


The Other Woman

by MissStone (Bbanimal)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Desire, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Heartbreak, Hotel Sex, Office Sex, Relationship(s), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:19:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bbanimal/pseuds/MissStone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A loveless marriage and a chance meeting are the catalysts that send two people down a path they thought to never walk down. </p><p>Both feel reckless and cannot seem to break the thread that ties them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa meet for the first time and Baelish does something he has never done before. Nevermind, how unhappy the man is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have too many thoughts in my head, and I am really enjoying my Petyr/Sansa fics (too much, most likely).
> 
> Just as a side, Lysa and Sansa are not related, and Petyr ain't murdering nobody! And Lysa ain't murdering no one either. Also, I just noticed quite a few f-bombs within the text, FYI.
> 
> No murder, just lies, pretty words and some smut. Let me know your thoughts, please and thank you!

He had stood at this particular painting for far too long, but had no desire to move. Petyr felt out of place and _bored._ Yes, the pieces were _lovely_ and he did enjoy the painting that had been commissioned at the office but he had no real desire to be there. Petyr was also alone. His wife was supposed to have come tonight but his step-son was sick and unconsolable, thus Petyr had gone to the gallery opening alone. Not that he had really desired Lysas company either. He sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets moving to the next piece of art on the wall. Turning to take a look around the room he ran his hand through his hair as if to suggest he wasn’t observing the crowd. 

It was full of good looking people not much younger than himself, though he still felt as if he was the oldest man in the room, being the one in a black suit, his hair and beard peppered with grey. Waiters flitted through the small groups of people with trays of champagne and wine. The music wasn’t too loud either, allowing Petyr to catch bits and pieces of conversations to amuse himself. He slowly walked to the next piece, wondering how many times he would have to do this before telling the artist, Loras he was leaving for the night. He stared at the large canvas in front of him. It was a mixed media piece of five ballet dancers, _this one was alright_ he smiled. Suddenly he heard a laugh and shhh to his left and turned. A leggy red-head and a brunette were having a private conversation, much to the dismay of the red head - in public, causing her brown-haired companion to laugh.

Petyr tried to listen in, only catching snatches of their dialogue. As he turned his head so did the women with auburn hair, their eyes locking. Petyr saw the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen staring back, the women equally exquisite, Petyr shuddered. He saw a blush spread across her porcelain skin. She blushed for Petyr had stared way too long.  

He smiled and stammered, “So sorry I - I didn’t mean to stare” he felt himself redden a little in embarrassment. 

She turned away for a second and looked back at him, her smile matching his.  

“It’s quite alright, no need to apologize” as she lifted her hand, she suddenly fell forward. Instinctively, Petyr stepped forward, her hands pressing against his chest, breaking her fall. His hands grabbed her bare arms, Petyr noted how smooth they were. He could smell her perfume, Jasmine and Lemons. He heard a gasp and another laugh behind her, “Oh my god Sansa, I just wanted to let you know I was gonna find Loras! Clearly I have drunk way too much!” The brunette muttering and continuing to giggle. 

Sansa turned to her friend, “Margaery... you sloppy drunk, go find your brother”. 

With that she looked up and met Petyrs eyes again and she released herself from his embrace. Looking over her shoulder he saw her friend walk away. They were alone.  

“Now I should apologize, I was just going to introduce myself before _she_ decided to be cute.” She continued to stare. 

“Sansa it is? My name is Petyr” he extended his hand and she shook it. 

“Petyr” She repeated. He liked how his name sounded on her lips. 

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked, Sansa nodding and looking away towards the art on the wall. Turning, Petyr quickly threaded through the crowd - snatching two glasses of red wine off of a tray. He didn’t want to come back to find she had disappeared, nearly sighing in relief to see she hadn’t moved from their spot. 

Before approaching Sansa again he took a moment to really soak her in; beautiful red hair in rich waves pooled around her shoulders. Her lithe figure in a tight black dress, showing off her small waist, soft hips and full breasts, her long legs ending with a pair of black high-heeled shoes. With Petyrs mind full of depraved thoughts, he stepped forward, handing the glass to Sansa. Her fingers grazing his hand as she took it from his grasp. He felt a small shock at their contact.  

Saying nothing about the shock she took a sip from her glass, “Thank you."

They both turned to look at the canvas. Without taking her eyes away from the piece she asked. “So, how do you know Loras? I'm assuming you _are_ acquainted since this is a private opening.” As she ended her question, Sansa turned to look at Petyr. 

“He commissioned a very nice, _very expensive_ piece for the front of the office I work at” He smirked a little.

“I see” It was her turn to smirk and take another sip from her glass. 

“And how do you know him?” Petyr countered.  

“Well, I’ve been friends with him and his younger sister Margaery for years.” She motioned to her friend the brunette who had given her a little shove earlier. The woman was now in a crowd of five other, equally pretty women. Petyr noted how every now and they looked towards him and Sansa, whispering.

Sansa continued, “Also I dance with Margaery - Loras likes to paint ballet dancers. _In fact_ , one of the paintings in here is of me”.

“Really?” Petyr commented, his tone instinctually growing flirtatious. “I would like to see it”. She blushed and nodded. 

“This way” she responded, taking his right hand and leading him through the crowd. 

 _God, what the fuck am I doing right now? Flirting. While married._ Petyr groaned aloud at his internal dialogue. Hearing him Sansa looked over her shoulder, her eyes locking with his, filled with wanting _._ Petyr felt alive from her gaze, every nerve in his body alight. Lysa slipped away from his mind, he felt emboldened. Slipping his left hand into his pocket Petyr wiggled his wedding ring off of his finger. 

He pulled it out as they stopped at the canvas, his mouth slightly dropping. Like the other pieces, it was composed of various mediums. Most of them had started out just as photographs, with Loras applying different layers and materials, creating textural works. This was no exception. It was beautiful. Sansa had been photographed in very low light, shadows playing off every feature, he could even see shadows from her long lashes against her cheekbones. Gold and silver foiling was the main accent, oil paint in creamy neutrals covering parts of her photo on the canvas. _And, Sansa was mostly nude._ He swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

He felt her stare and turned towards her. “What do you think?” she mused, noting his -  _discomfort._

Petyr noticed they were standing quite close, he could feel the warmth emitting from her body. He didn't want to move.

After a long pause, some words fell out, “Its my favorite” She laughed, placing her hands on his arm. 

Sansa gave a seductive smile, “ _I’m glad._ ” 

* * *

 

Petyr no longer wanted to leave the gallery. Grabbing himself and Sansa another glass of wine, they continued their flirting, slowly moving to the back of the gallery, and closer to the other. After two hours, they were whispering in each others ear, their hands drifting to touch the other. For Petyr, now and then, his conscience broke through, trying to pull his mind away from Sansa. _You are married, you have a wife and step son, what the fuck are you doing, what the fuck are you going to do. You are not a cheater._

Petyr burned for this beautiful red-head, soaking in every flirtatious stare, every time she rested her hand on his chest or felt her breath on his neck. In these moments, Petyr could care less of the commitments he had made before this night, himself unconsciously reciprocating her advances. He was aroused, no question, feeling an invisible thread that pulled him towards her.  

They looked up to find the crowds had lessened significantly, Petyr looked down at his watch - it was still early; only about 10:30. He didn’t want to leave. Looking at Sansa, her blue eyes seem to convey the same thing. 

They stood there for a moment in silence, fidgeting. He saw Sansa look down, bite her lower lip and look up. “I really don’t want to call it a night just yet, would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?” he nodded quickly, _too quickly_. 

“I will grab us a cab.” He smiled and turned to walk towards the entrance.  

Minutes later, she joined him outside pulling on her coat - It was springtime and the nights were still cool. Their eyes didn't meet as the cab pulled up, Petyr opening the door for Sansa to crawl inside. After giving the driver her address they sat in silence. Petyr thoughts were racing, repeating the thing he had been thinking all night -  _What are you doing, what are you doing, you may not love your wife but you are not a fucking cheater._ He shook his head, turning towards Sansa. She leaned towards Petyr, her mouth slightly open, her full lips looking so kissable. He leaned in to kiss her. _You fucking scumbag._

It lasted no more than a moment and as they pulled away Petyr saw her eyes darkening, her breathing becoming a little deeper.  

“We’re almost there.” She whispered, almost to herself.  

The cab finally came to a stop, the two quickly stepping out. Petyr leaned in to the open drivers window to pay the man. He turned to see Sansa standing in front of a lovely brownstone building.  

“This is where I live”. She smiled, arms raised. 

Walking up the steps and through the hallway - they came to stop in front of a wooden door, number 4-D. Turning her key, they stepped inside. Walking through the darkened room, Sansa flicked on a light switch, an antique chandelier lighting up the room. Her home was spacious with high ceilings and a large window framing a view of the city. The wall parallel to the front door was lined with mirrors and a hand rail. A record player rested in the corner, two crates of vinyl set beside it. Several paintings and framed art littered the room but none were hung up, instead leaning against the bare walls. The only other items in the room were an oriental rug, a velvet tufted sofa facing the window and several stacks of books pushed against the back of the couch.

“Sorry its a little sparse in here, lots of travel - I’ve only really found myself home the past six months” Sansa said, her voice growing quieter as she walked through an archway that led to her kitchen. 

“It’s quite alright, I like it in here.” Petyr responded as he took off his coat and jacket, resting them on the sofa.  

Petyr seated himself and leaning against the soft velvet he turned to see an open door, revealing a room painted in a dark emerald that housed a bed covered in white linens and two mismatched bedside tables,  _her bedroom_. Petyr turned towards the kitchen archway at the sound of her footsteps. Sansa had reappeared with two glasses of scotch, several ice cubes floating in each glass. He smiled in thanks as she handed him the drink.

“How long were you away dancing?” he asked, taking a sip.  

“I performed in New York for about two years.” She smiled, tilting her head back to take a drink. 

Petyr shifted in his seat, loosening his tie and leaning his arm on the back on the couch, situating himself closer to Sansa - hoping she didn't pick up on his blatant attempt to close the gap between the two of them on sofa. 

“What do you do Petyr? I forgot to ask.” Sansa asked with an arched eyebrow, herself edging closer to him.  _She had noticed._ _  
_

Feeling a brush against his trousers Petyr looked down to see their legs were almost touching. With a small cough he replied; "Honestly Sansa, compared to being a ballerina my jobs,  _boring -_  I am the CFO at Vale.” He looked to see if it would register, she shook her head. 

Grabbing his wallet he pulled out a business card, Sansa playfully plucking it from his fingers. 

Reading the card she responded, “Oh yes, this is right next to the performance hall. Also, this logo looks _really_ familiar” 

“Because we’re one of the corporate sponsors for your little show.” He noted. 

“ _Oh,_ Well, thank you Vale... and Petyr.” She laughed a little staring up at him through her long lashes. 

“It is nothing, sweetling.” With his response he rested his arm across her shoulders, Sansa didn't shirk from his touch.

Noting the consent, Petyr reached to touch her red hair, feeling its silky texture against his fingers. Sansa didn’t seem to mind, leaning her head into his hand. Setting his drink down he placed his hand on her thigh, Petyr looked to her for approval and noting her ardent gaze he left it there. 

She set her own drink down on the coffee table and faced him, the two now only inches apart. _I cannot believe his is happening,_ he mused _I will etch this into my memory. I have to swear to fucking god I will never do this again. Ever._ Petyr felt her hand finger the collar of his shirt, moving her hand to his chest, only to rest on his thigh. Lifting his hand from the back of the couch he placed it on the side of her temple. Locking eyes, Petyr and Sansa stared deeply into the other. Petyr leaned in - kissing her a second time, Sansa eagerly reciprocated. He felt alight.

She tilted her head as she kissed him deeper, a little moan escaping her lips. Petyr pulled her towards him. With his sudden movement Sansa laid her hands on his chest, pressing herself closer. As she kissed him Sansa gently bit at his lower lip, snaking her tongue into his mouth, Petyr groaned and placed his hand on the back of her head. She draped her arms over his shoulders, Sansas own hands running through his hair. Petyr leaned himself into the arm of the couch as she moved to place herself between his legs, her body pressing against him. He moved his hand, resting it on her behind as they continued to kiss.  

Her kiss was unlike any Petyr had experienced before. They were deep and fervid, completely dissimilar to the frantic biting he was accustomed too with Lysa. He pulled Sansa closer to him, feeling one of her legs sliding between his thighs; allowing Sansa to push her center into him, Petyr groaned. He felt her hips moving, pressing against him, against his hardness. Petyr wanted to pass out from the waves of arousal he felt from her touch.

Finally he gasped, " Is that your room?” Sansa nodded, her eyes dark and hazy, her lips swollen with desire. 

He immediately rose and placed her in his arms, walking towards her room. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders to steady herself, Sansa kissed at his neck and lips. He gently set her at the head of her bed, Sansa sitting up as he set himself on top of her. Petyr felt her fingers digging into his shoulder as he pressed his groin into her hips - their movements syncing up as they rocked. Their lips were locked, the kisses becoming more impassioned, aching with desire. Sighing and running his hands down her body he stopped at her waist, gripping her tightly. Petyr thought about how their bodies molded together so perfectly as he stared into Sansas beautiful blue eyes. He wanted to drink her in. Becoming impatient  Sansa began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling at his tie,  

“Is this happening?” He asked in near disbelief, his words coming out raspy in-between their continued kissing.

“Do you want this to happen” she said quietly, kissing him with her open mouth, Sansas face against his.

He could hear her aroused breathing, he could see her breasts falling and rising from her inhales and exhales. 

“Oh god yes.” He whispered. 

As his hands slid down the straps of her dress and bra, Petyr began to move his lips and tongue against her collarbone and breasts. He felt Sansa move under him towards the nightstand, sliding open the drawer and pulling out a small wooden box. She nodded her head towards it as she moved to unzip her dress and unclasp her bra. Sansa slid them down her hips and legs, carelessly tossing the garments on the floor. Sansa pressed her naked breasts against his chest, unzipping his trousers and sliding her hands between his bare skin and the fabric. Feeling her touch against Petyr his member he finally removed all clothing from his body. He was still above her, staring at Sansas nearly naked form. 

“ _God,_ you’re so beautiful Sansa. _"_ He groaned and she smiled.

Her head rested on the pillow, red hair pooled all around her, eyes dark and aching for his touch. Petyr moved his hands down her breasts her hips, her abdomen. Sliding his fingers under the lace of her intimates he slowly slipped them off. Sansa was completely bare. Petyr suddenly felt a sense of urgency and opened the box, pulling out one of the foil packets, ripping it open and readying himself. Before sliding himself inside her, Petyr ran his hands along her sex, feeling Sansas back arch from his touch, gasping at the contact. 

“Petyr” she mewed, moving her hips. His name on Sansas lips made him ache. 

He slid inside her. He felt her wetness, her muscles contracting, hearing Sansa moan as he moved inside her. Wrapping her arms around Petyr she pulled him close, running her fingers across his scalp. 

Petyr slid his arms under her head and neck, their eyes locked. Sansa kept her gaze, closing her eyes now and then as they moved, Petyr finding a spot to make her sigh. She whispered in his ear how good he felt inside of her, how she wanted him to make her come, _how she needed him_. 

He wanted to pour into her, to hear his name on her lips as she orgasmed. It all seemed so unreal to Petyr. God, how she moved and how she felt, her flushed skin, and sensual kisses.  _He had never felt anything so fucking good before in all his life._ _  
_

Their movements seemed to intensify. Petyr felt her hands dig into this shoulders as she tilted her head back to gasp and moan. Begging Petyr to fuck her harder Sansa finally came - her toes curling, Petyr feeling her leg spasm from her orgasm. He also gave in and with several hard thrusts Petyr groaned at his release. Falling into her shoulder Sansa eagerly awaited his touch, her kiss deep and languid, reciprocating he moaned into her open mouth. Releasing his lips from Sansas, Petyr moved to kiss her naked body, damp with sweat. 

* * *

 

Laying in the bed next to her, slowly, the high from their copulation began escaping his body. Petyrs mind gradually processing the weight of what had just happened. He felt guilt, longing, and fear. Other sensations Petyr couldn't even begin to understand were creeping into his mind as he lay there - next to the most stunning women he had ever been with. Turning to look at Sansa he sighed. _This will be hard, but I can't lie to her. Fuck me._

“Sansa, I…” 


	2. Night and Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa POV; that means Petyrs' will be up next.

She looked towards him and Petyr stopped. A sad smile crept across his lips, seeing her rumpled hair, skin still flushed; she was beautiful. He rested his hand on the side of her face. Sansa closed her eyes at his touch, moving her face to kiss his palm. 

“Yes?” Her eyes dark and hazy. 

He slowly shook his head in silence, placing a kiss on her lips. Feeling her arms begin to wrap across his naked back, Petyr suddenly pulled himself away, “Where is - I, I need to step into your bathroom for a moment.” 

“That door” She said quietly, pointing towards a door to her left. 

Petyr quickly put on his boxers and with two steps was in the bathroom, flicking on the light and leaning against the locked door. Running his hands over his face, he quietly banged the back of his head against the wood. _I. Am. Fucked. I am an idiot._ With a quiet moan he turned on the faucet, allowing the water to run as he rested his hands against the basin of the sink, looking up to stare at his reflection in the small mirror. _Scumbag. Make this quick and easy; it will be better for the both of you. You will never see her again._ _You cannot._ Looking into the mirror he saw a broken fucking man looking back. With a sigh, Petyr grabbed a towel and wetting it in the cold water he quickly rubbed it over his face and neck, his chest, _every_ place Sansa had touched. Petyr wanted nothing more than to carry her with him, but it would cause cause for alarm once he got home. With a final sigh he turned off the faucet and opened the door. 

Sansa had her back to him. Laying in bed, the sheets only pulled up to her waist Petyr could see the curve of her body, the swell of her hips, her red-hair shining in the lamplight. Quietly, he moved to grab his clothes, silently putting them on. She continued to look away. It killed Petyr. He wanted nothing more than to climb into bed beside her, cradle her in his arms all night - _in another life, another time_ Petyr thought. The room felt so different than it had only minutes before. Once dressed, Petyr sat on the edge of the bed next to Sansa, placing his hand on her hip - only then did she turn to stare into his eyes take in his appearance, Petyr fully dressed as Sansa sat up, still bare, that her blankets had fallen into her lap.  

“Sansa, I… I, I have to go.” She turned away, not wanting Petyr to see the hurt on her face. 

“Why? Don’t you want to stay, _I would like you to stay_ ” Her voice cracked. He slumped his shoulders and sighed, Petyr seemed so deflated “There is nothing more that I would want than to stay here with you tonight” the words came out, quiet and firm. 

“Than stay” She pleaded a little, grabbing at his arm. He looked into her eyes and closed his own, if he stared too long he might do anything she asked. 

“I was not completely honest with you tonight. And fuck, what I wouldn’t give for that _not_ to be the case” 

She was silent, her hands dropped, “What is it?” 

He sighed, “I am a married man.” With those words she looked away from him, pulling up the sheets to cover herself up, her arms crossing. He could feel her harden underneath his touch. 

“Well, then.” She whispered, “You should leave Petyr.”  

He nodded and rose to leave.

He felt her hand tug at the hem of his jacket and he turned. Her eyes were misty, Petyr moved to embrace her but she stuck her hand out to stop him.  

“Don’t” Sansa gasped, tears beginning to run down her face. 

Petyr sat back down on the bed and pulled her close, this time she didn’t pull away but leaned her forehead into his chest as she cried. He rested his head on the top of her head, his eyes closed. “I am so fucking sorry, I wish things were different.” 

“You say that” she gasped, “But they aren’t, they aren’t different - at all.” 

Looking up her eyes were wet, though no more tears fell, “Why did you lie, why did you come home with me, why - why sleep with me?” her voice came out in a raspy whisper. 

He ran his hand through his hair searching for an answer, his eyes never pulling away from Sansa; “I, I wasn’t thinking.” He said truthfully, “All I could think about was you. And, and more than just simply _wanting_ you Sansa.”  

Sansa gave him a strange look. She closed her eyes, “It still doesn’t excuse your fucking awful behavior Petyr - _you’re a married man_. I don’t want to - I can’t see you again” Her voice was unsure, though firm.

Petyr nodded. “I understand Sansa, I will miss you.” With his words Sansa leaned towards him, their faces inches away from the other. 

Petyr kissed her, Sansa giving in to his touch - their kiss conveying so much more than goodbye. Finally pulling away he looked to Sansas eyes; forlorn, impassioned. With a final kiss on her forehead he stood up and walked towards the door.  

“Petyr” he stopped at her voice. “Goodbye, I will miss you too - _asshole_ ” he gave her a sad smile, which she returned. 

* * *

With the click of her front door closing, Sansa threw her head back into the pillows and held her hands to her face as she cried. She felt used and hollow. Never had it been like _that_ before. When their eyes had locked in the gallery, she had felt her breath slip away. She could still feel his kisses, she could taste him. Scrubbing her mouth with the back of her hand she stared at the ceiling allowing the tears to fall until her ducts were dry. Bitterly she rose and grabbed a robe that rested on the chair that sat in her room. Sinching it tight she walked to the living room to remove any evidence of what had transpired. Leaning down to pick up the two glasses from the coffee table she noticed Petyrs business card lying there. Eyeing it for a minute, Sansa decided to leave it as she walked into the kitchen, emptying the remaining liquid into the sink and putting the scotch away in the cabinet. Walking back towards her room she eyed Petyrs card again and picked it up off the table. _I should throw this away._ Staring at it, Sansa clutched it in her palm; locking the front door and turning off all the lights in her apartment. Before crawling back into bed Sansa bent down, slipping the card in her bag.  

Sansa lay unable to sleep, hoping that Petyr would find no peace either that night. Maybe he would be found out - she smirked. But, unlikely; there was little justice in the world for such things, that Sansa knew first hand. She placed her hand to her chest; it still felt hollow and knew it would feel that way for a time - though unsure of how long. Sansa tried to sleep, to forget - unsuccessfully. Turning and twisting herself in the sheets, Sansa flicked her lamp back on with a huff, and went to grab one of the three old books resting in her nightstand. Two of the books had been her parents favorites, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare and Dubliners, the third Wuthering Heights. She grabbed the latter, it was _her_ favorite. Sansa opened it to a random page, she had read the book enough times to know, at any chapter what was going on between Cathy, Heathcliff, Linton, the whole lot. Opening it around Chapter 15, her face grew calm as she read. She read on for a time but stopped, Sansa had chosen poorly in a chapter; again her emotion rising up, her eyes growing wet;  

_“Let me alone. Let me alone' sobbed Catherine. 'If I've done wrong, I'm dying for it. It is enough! You left me too;  but I won't upbraid you! I forgive you. Forgive me!' 'It is hard to forgive, and look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don't let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to-”_

With that, Sansa tossed the book to the floor, tears silently falling. She rolled over, wondering why she felt so strongly about this liar - this cheater and why she was drawn to him. Sansa would sleep little that night.

* * *

 Her alarm rang loudly, more so than if she had slept peacefully. Her eyes felt puffy, her body sore and weak. Sansa didn’t bother herself with a shower. Though it would torment her, she wanted Petyrs smell to linger on her person. Pulling on a pair of high-waisted black jeans, a striped sweater, and her black boots she pulled her hair up in a high bun; grabbing her camel-colored overcoat and ballet bag. Sansas stomach still felt tight and empty. She didn’t feel like eating but grabbed a banana from off her counter and poured herself a mug of tea to go. Sansa left her apartment to the nearby light rail, for a performance practice. The sky was still dark, though growing red and orange from the rising sun. She stood on the platform, seeing her breath in the cool air, her body growing heavy from her thoughts. Instinctively she shook her head to rid herself of the feeling as the car pulled up, the sliding doors opening and Sansa piling herself in with the other early morning passengers.  

She leaned her head against one of the poles, gripping it with one hand and closing her eyes. Tuning out the activity all around her. She smiled at the thought of his touch, almost feeling his hand drifting down her neck to her waist and center. She could feel his kiss, firm, eager, the hairs from his beard scratching the top of her lip. Sansa bit her lower lip at the memory, giving a small moan, reflexively clenching her thighs together. Several men turned her way in the car and she blushed at their stares.

Three, two stops, the next one would be Margaerys. Sansa was dreading the questions and she was right to be, as the doors slid open she heard the shuffle of bodies and a delighted shriek.  

“Sansa! My god!” Margaerys hand gripped and shook her friends shoulders, Sansa pulled from her ministrations over her and Petyrs love-making. Her blue eyes locked with her friends brown eyes and the glee that they held. 

 “Ahhh… I could have died last night seeing you get in that cab with that _silver haired fox”_ She tilted her head back with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Soooo?” Margaerys, eye brow arching, “Tell me fucking everything, you have an obligation to tell me”Sansa sighed. 

“You really wanna know?” The brunette nodded her head, Sansa leaned in, her smile sad but playful, “All of it?” 

“Yes, you little slut!” Sansa shushed her friend, but the damage had been done, people were staring.

She gave them all a hard stare and continued talking with Margaery. Sansa lowered her voice, touching her hand to her neck, “It... was the best sex I’ve ever had…” her friend shrieked again. 

“I die!” Margaery tilted her head and neck back, grabbing on to the pole as placed the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic swoon.

Straightening herself she pressed further, “And?”

Sansa sighed and Margaery could see her friends expression instantly change, her face growing heavy, her big blue eyes filling with grief and longing. 

She gripped Sansas hand, “He’s married.” Sansa whispered, her head down. 

Margaery had never seen Sansa so shaken over a one-night stand before. The two of them were beautiful women and _dancers -_ If Sansa or Margaery did not want to sleep alone any night there was never a shortage of willing participants. It pained her to see her friend so,  _heartbroken_. “Well he was a fucking asshole then.” Was all she mustered in response.

Sansa shook her head, “It wasn’t like that - until it was…” she sighed the two found a seat as Sansa relayed her evening, seeing Margies eyes grow big now and then from the _details,_ though Sansa did leave a few out, wanting to keep those intimate memories to herself. 

They would continue talking as they reached their stop and walked across the open air pavilion in front of the performance center, Margaery scanning the crowds as Sansa had even mentioned he worked close by, she could see his building across the light-rail tracks on the other side of the street. Nearing their practice space Sansa rounded to face Margaery, the two girls taking in each other.

“Please, do not tell _anyone_ that he is married - ok?” The brunette looked at Sansa with pursed lips, finally mustering a small nod. “Say whatever the fuck you want about our positions or how big he was or wasn’t - but not _that_.” Her eyes didn’t leave her friends.

“It _will_ kill me Sansa, but I will… though I will tell everyone he had a huge crank - _if_ they ask.” The two looked at each other and laughed. 

Margaery and Sansa kissed each other with a smile after the laughter died, the two had always been extremely close. She would keep Sansas secrets. Sansa stopped as they walked through the doors, hearing Margaery breath in deeply and immediately grab her friends arm.

“Sansa, do you realize?” She pulled her face inches away from the red-head. “ _You're having an affair.”_  

“Margaery, for this to be an affair, it would have to happen more than once - right?”


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyrs thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for Petyrs POV - that night, the morning after. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I am loving this - in the coming chapters Sansa and Petyr do meet again... they can't help themselves really (and who can blame them?).

Petyr stood outside for a long while, waiting for a cab. He wished he could see her window from the outside. Nothing. The cab finally pulled up and Petyr crawled inside, immediately giving the man a $100 with his address. He lived with _her_ outside of the city, and wanted to make it worth the mans while to get him home. With one last look at the brick of Sansas building - the car pulled away. Closing his eyes, Petyr leaned his head against the back seat. With a heavy sigh he replayed every moment with Sansa in his mind, committing it to memory. Sansas soft skin, her moans, every kiss - how her naked breasts felt against his body... her tears.

He gripped his thighs and suddenly remembered to put his wedding band back on, hoping the cab driver hadn’t seen him fumbling in his pocket - slipping it back on. The ring felt strange on his finger, as if it had been years since he had worn one - not hours. Peytr grimaced, thinking of home, and what would await him. _She awaited him; Lysa Baelish._ Petyr hoped to God she would be asleep but it was unlikely. The women often stayed up until he got home, unless he specifically told her not to. It was only around midnight and she would still be awake. 

Lysa and Petyr had been married for almost two years, though six months into the marriage Petyr had already been regretting it. Now, two years in he was just irritated by the whole ordeal. Their marriage wasn’t entrapment - Lysa wasn’t quite that sinister (but it often felt that way to Petyr). He had met her at a work function; Lysa's first husband had recently passed, the man a prominent shareholder at Vale - and now she was with his death. There were no sparks that evening, just the feeling of Petyr being hunted, the women not giving up until she had his number. Their strange courtship picking up from there. With Lysa orchestrating at all - her manic moods, the awful cooking, Lysa screaming on top of him the rare occasion they slept together. She had even been the one to propose marriage, and Petyr begrudgingly had accepted.

Petyr often ruminated on why he had said yes, why they had even gotten this far. Truthfully, though his work history told a much different story; in his personal life, Petyr was apathetic - hated confrontation. On top of his disillusionment, his apathy - Petyr had felt a twinge of guilt, of pity that Lysa loved him so much, and he cared so little. Though she didn’t seem to notice, _at all_  and demanded almost nothing of him. Petyrs life since marriage had gone relatively unchanged. The only difference really being instead of the sleek apartment downtown he had once owned, he lived at Lysa's. 

It wasn’t as if Petyr was unattractive or he had been unlucky with women before;  _he had done quite well for himself actually_. Petyr truthfully had just given up on the idea of marriage, of some woman in his life to love. No matter how beautiful or flirtatious, Petyr had been bored by the opposite sex,  _they were all so predictable, unexciting really_. In all of Petyrs relationships very few people, and even fewer women had ever excited him; even years before Lysa had stomped into his life.  Petyr just assumed that it would always be that way. So, he had promised himself to a woman who did all the work. Petyr could just exist in Lysas presence and she would be ecstatic.

Petyr had figured he would put in a few more years with Lysa, wait till Robin was older, _more normalized_ before calling it quits. He could then tell others at work functions and dinner parties he had been married - didn’t care for it and be done with it.  _Moving on._

But thinking of Sansa, Petyr felt his whole paradigm shift. He had never felt a connection such as that - and the sex. _Fuck._ If _she_ had been at his work function two years ago, he would have been the one hunting and begging; asking for her number. He would have been the one to propose. She lit up a side of Petyr he didn’t know existed. Who knows what they could have done in two years. He groaned aloud at his frustration - _h_ _e would never see her again._ He shouldn’t at least - not while he was married. Petyr was miserable, horribly miserable but not unfaithful - at least he hadn’t been. Pulling out his phone, Petyr eyed the last number he had called, _Sansas_. He moved to delete it but couldn’t. Staring at the number for a minute longer he sighed, saving it as _S_ in his phone.

The houses outside the car became familiar as they pulled up to Lysa and _Petyrs_ drive. The cab driver gave him a knowing nod and smile as Petyr got out of the car. Straightening his coat and jacket, running his hand through his hair as he stood on the curb, staring at the craftsman home. He could see Lysas light was still on. _Time to go inside._

Petyr opened the front door, only to face the stairs, but he didn’t walk up them. He took off his shoes and jacket, placing the jacket in a pile of things to be sent out for dry cleaning. Petyr nearly tripping over one of Robins toys in the dark entryway. The kid had more toys than Petyr had ever thought possible - the house stood not as Lysas home but as a testament to how much she spoiled and coddled her son. Though Robin had gotten a _little_ better with Petyr in the house, which he was grateful for. Sometimes his voice got stern sending Robin into a fit, but the kid begrudgingly obeyed. The boy even picked up his toys on a regular basis, though tonight had not been the case. Stopping in the small bathroom downstairs he pulled out a bottle of mouth wash and gargled it.  

* * *

 

“Petyr?” He heard Lysas crackly voice at the foot of the stairs. He gave her a tiny smile as he stepped through the doorway; “How was the gallery opening?” 

“Good” He nodded, giving her a little kiss on her forehead. She was on her laptop, not even breaking her stare to look at Petyr;

“Were there a lot of dancers there?” 

“Yes” he choked a little, “How - how did you know that?” 

“I looked up the artist online, I wish I could have been there, they all look so beautiful - the paintings - _and to see all the dancers_ … I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was a little girl.” Lysa gave a small sigh.

As she spoke Petyr took off his remaining clothes and putting on something to sleep in, glad Lysa couldn’t see him smirk at the thought of her being a ballerina. Though she was smaller, the women was bulky and completely ungraceful. With a smile Petyr thought about Sansa. Sansa was a ballerina, she had looked graceful - even while falling. 

“Don’t all little girls want to be ballerinas?” Petyr yawned getting into bed, giving himself the usual breadth of space between himself and his wife. 

“Probably” Lysa smiled.  

“How was Robin tonight, feeling better?” Asked Petyr over his shoulder. 

“Yes, just went to bed not long ago… umm, Petyr… ” 

“Yes” 

“Not to get sidetracked, _but I can't help it._ I looked up online that theres a performance right now that I would love to go to. Thinking about those dancers and the paintings - _peaked_ my interest.” 

“… what is it, Swan Lake or something?” 

“No, Giselle - it's my favorite.” 

“What is _Giselle_ about?” He mumbled, trying to get to sleep. Petyr wanted to dream about Sansas naked body underneath his own - the only time he would ever be with her again he thought.

“Oh god! It’s so sad and beautiful! A peasant girl - Giselle; falls in love with a nobleman. She later finds out he is betrothed to another and she dies from the heartbreak -“

“Isn’t there something else?” Petyr immediately sitting up, the story hitting to close to home for his current comfort. 

“No Petyr. I want to see _t_ _hat_ one” She sounded indignant, her voice growing whiny.  

He held out his hand and gave a long sigh; “Fuck, alright - I’ll take you to the damn ballet.” 

"Whats wrong?”

“- Nothing, I’m just tired, I had a long night talking with Loras - the artist, we got drinks afterwards.” 

“Also Petyr - Vale sponsors the ballet and get amazing tickets, I used to go quite often with Jon.” 

“I said yes, _didn’t I_?” Petyr was throughly done with this conversation. He looked towards Lysas computer screen, she had already pulled up performance dates. He grabbed her arm in shock and she stopped, “What is it Petyr?” 

He looked at the promotional picture. It was Sansa in the arms of a male dancer, her head and body tilted back almost touching the floor, her arms gracefully arched and her leg in the arm of her partner. She was Giselle. 

* * *

 

Petyr slept poorly, tossing and turning. After seeing Sansas face on the screen, he argued and fought with Lysa change her mind - he begged, but she became angry when he couldn’t muster a reason why. _Because I fucked her and I don’t want to be with you_ was what he wanted to say, but the inconvenience and the crying that would follow kept his mouth shut. As Petyr tried to sleep his thoughts and dream were consumed by Sansa, by their love-making _and_ that he would be dragging a women he despised to see her dance Friday. 

He got up bitter and his mood did not lift as Petyr stepped into the shower. Letting the water run over him, he thought about the previous night again. Sansas bare skin; how it burned, how she arched her back underneath him - skin flushed, begging him to make her come. He groaned, aroused from his memory. He looked down, his body had responded; _this is my life until I divorce Lysa, thinking about Sansa; pleasuring myself to her._ Leaning his head against the cool tile he let the water run over him another minute before taking himself in his hand, pumping until he felt a release, groaning. With a heavy sigh he cleaned himself and turned off the shower. Petyr felt only slightly pathetic after. 

How his morning would have gone if he wasn’t with Lysa, if he had stayed; Petyrs thoughts went wild, drying himself off. They could have slept together already. Petyr could have been in the shower with Sansa that instant, her naked form pressed against his. Maybe they could have pleasured each other. Petyr could have made her breakfast in bed even, he sighed at the thought. After readying himself, Petyr walked downstairs to see Robin eating a bowl of cereal and Lysa sitting next to her son, arm on his shoulder asking him about what he would be doing today and how he should try and be a good boy. The two looked up at his arrival.  

“Hello Petyr” yelled Robin, his mouth full of cereal; “Morning Lord Robin” Petyr responded. The boy was going through a knights and dragons phase, Petyr played along. 

The boy smiled and his mother rose; walking over to Petyr as he poured himself a cup of coffee, avoiding eye contact with Lysa as he took a sip. 

“Good morning” He continued drinking, “ _Sooo_ , I already called Ros and she got us tickets, Friday, the best seats Vale had. I also got us a sitter and made dinner reservations for after - _I am so excited_!” She gave Petyrs arm a squeeze, a little too tight.  

“I’m glad” was all he could muster. 

He kissed Lysa on the cheek and nodded to Robin as he said his goodbyes. Grabbing his bag at the door he quickly stepped out to catch the train into the city.

Petyr rode in silence, walked from the platform down the street to the Vale office and as he stepped through the door the silence continued. He didn’t even look up when Ros at the front desk said hello. Ros was used to it though, if he had said hello _then_ she would have cause for concern. Stopping at the elevator door he waited for the doors to slide open. Finally the doors peeled back to reveal the only two people Petyr may have considered friends. 

“You look like shit” noted the smaller man in greeting, Tyrion.  

The bald one, Varys only smiled. Not another word was spoken until the doors to the elevator opened to the 4th floor. 

“You have no idea my friend.” Petyr said dryly over his shoulder, opening his office door. 

Petyr left it open as he settled himself, the two men casually strolling in behind him. He looked up at the open door and nodded for the two to shut it. Once the door shut Petyr rubbed his hands over his face, groaning. 

“...The art show last night” 

“- How was it?” Vary’s cut in.

“I was getting to that… it was _interesting_. I will only tell you because I know you both have no friends and my disappointments are your successes” 

Varys didn’t move but Tyrion shook his head in agreeance; a smirk on his face.

Petyr sighed; “I met a woman last night.” 

“Is that all? Mind you, they happen to be everywhere” Tryion said with a dry chuckle.

Petyrs head now in his hands, “I slept with her.” 

Tyron stopped laughing and Varys just stared. 

“Really?” the first man said blankly; “What did she look like?” Tyrions curiosity was peaked. 

Petyr was married to an unpleasant woman and in Tyrions opinion, Petyr himself was mostly unpleasant as well. People in the office didn’t know what Petyr was thinking and it worried them. Tyrion didn’t even think the man had it in him to sleep around. He unlike Petyr, was very much single and though he wasn’t much to look at his dry witticisms had taken him quite far with the opposite sex. 

Tyrion positioned himself in front of Petyrs computer. The man still hadn’t moved, his head still in his hands. “What is her name?” 

“Sansa” Petyr groaned. 

Tyrion opened up Facebook, typing in her name. Only two searches came up, peeking at the screen Petyr pointed to the first hit. _And t_ _here she was._

“Oh my -” Tyrions mouth was slightly open. 

He clicked on her page. Petyr looked over to see the red head staring back at him. She was sitting on a front porch somewhere in a bathing suit, the smallest smile on her lips. It was in summer time. He could see tall pines in the photo, a lake, the people in the background out of focus, laughing, enjoying a warm summer night. She was leaned against a pillar. One hand in her lap, the other resting on a glass - half empty. Her leg bent and Sansas face turned towards the camera. Her hair wavy, a halo around her pale skin; her skin was glowing and free of makeup. 

“She’s” “-Shes beautiful.” Cut in Varys, he had also rounded the desk to look at her. 

Though Varys was not one for women there was something to be said about Sansa Stark. Petyr very much agreed.


	4. Both Performances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr takes Lysa to The Ballet, much to Petyrs discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Lysa watch Sansa dance. Afterwards, Lysa watches the performance of Petyr and Sansa pretending they are not - acquainted. 
> 
> Both are their usual selves; excellent liars. Also, miserable Petyr likes to drink. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments! I am really enjoying writing this as it is my fave ship :).

After their late night trysts and the resulting sorrow, the subsequent performances for the principal ballerina had been breathtaking. Though Sansa had always been an excellent dancer in delivery and technical ability; since the opening night, the director had been pushing Sansa to find her emotional edge and fall off of it - the role of Giselle required vulnerability, sadness. The morning after Petyr left her Sansa had delivered in practice, amongst her partner and the other soloist performers. 

As she heard the quiet clink of the first piano key, Sansa breathed in deeply closing her eyes, feeling the weight of her melancholy as it lay to rest on her shoulders. With another deep breath, she moved en pointe across the floor, her long limbs arching themselves over her head. As she danced, Sansa could almost feel his hands running down her arms, her waist as she stopped and arched her back - his kiss on her neck. Every nerve in her body felt ablaze, she could feel the fibers in her clothing, the air move around her as she was gripped and lifted by her partner. Sansa felt hot tears slowly fall down her cool cheeks, her movements in rhythm with the music. As she was held in the final position, Sansa allowed the tears to fall, not daring to break her pose. As she was gingerly placed on her feet, eager with their praises, the director Barbrey and the soloists swarmed Sansa.

Margaery pushing through, a tear running down her own face, pulled Sansa close; “him fucking you was the best thing to ever happen to your dancing” Sansa laughed, wiping her tears away, thanking everyone. 

Every performance after, as the second act began; Sansa allowed that melancholy to swallow her, to remember his touch. Through the blinding lights, the audience pushed far from her mind all she could hear was the music and feel every muscle in her body sigh. Sansa danced only for Petyr, to show him her heartbreak - how it could empower her. When Sansa heard the clapping and shouts from the crowd, when she stood amongst the other soloist and as she bowed in thanks - his face was the only one she wanted to see.

* * *

Friday came and Petyr began drinking in his office around two. Ever the best and most eager of drinking companions, Tyrion decided to join him. The two shutting themselves up in Petyrs office pretending to work while in reality, Tyrion had asked Petyr to regale him of the night he slept with Sansa Stark, _the ballerina_. Tyrion now wondered what else could this man be hiding if he had the ability to seduce such a goddess. Though Petyr divulged a little, he felt it would be cruel to her memory to speak so freely. Since that night, he had thought of calling her, to apologize but always deciding against it - _best to forget her._ But Petyr couldn’t, and truthfully, didn’t want to. Now in a few hours he would watch her dance, with _Lysa._

Leaving the office at 5; an inebriated Petyr left for home in no better a mood. The alcohol had only made him sad and desirous. He stepped inside the house to a screaming Robin standing a top the sofa as the babysitter stood helpless in the living room. Robin turned to Petyr, “You’re leaving! Don’t!” 

“My boy, we’ll be back” Petyr said with a heavy sigh, mussing the boys hair.

Before Robin could respond Petyr was walking up the stairs - _leave the babysitter to it, thats why you pay the women_. He spotted Lysa was getting ready in the bathroom, putting on her finishing touches. Petyr thought Lysa was not one you would normally call fashionable, or put together. She wore outfits like her mood, often sporadic and mismatched, a size to big or small. In his mind, Lysa was a canvas to her own mental instability. Tonight she was a nice silk black dress with an empire waist and little cap sleeves, pearl earrings hanging from her ears. Tonight, _Stable Lysa_ Petyr thought. 

“Petyr! She seemed to shriek; “You like?” She did a little turn, he gave her a slight nod.

“Hurry up” she demanded, patting him a little too hard on the shoulder _Not as stable as I thought_. 

“The ballet starts promptly at 8, and I want to get their early” Lysa turned away as she walked down the stairwell. He could hear her begin to scream at the babysitter, himself cringing at her tone.

* * *

 A little while later, they were in the car. Petyr in a tux and Lysa all smiles, talking _incessantly_ about how excited she was. Tonight had become almost bearable, Petyr had taken several swigs of bourbon from the liquor cabinet before they left and had _decided_ he would down a few drinks once they arrived. _I don’t want to feel_ , he grimaced. Finally Lysa quieted herself as they entered the city and as they arrived at the performance center. Pulling up to the valet and stepping out, Petyr did admit to himself the building was quite beautiful, all lit up and filled with people in their finest. Though he practically worked across the street his eyes never wandered this way up until recently - now Petyr hoping he would catch Sansa in a crowd. 

Inside he grabbed Lysa a glass of white wine, while Petyr asked the bartender to pour him a very stiff drink - which the man had topped off when Petyr gave him a $20 tip. He tried to keep his eyes on the crowd as he didn’t want to see the promotional offerings Sansas face plastered all over them. Back at the table Petyr groaned as he saw Lysa flipping through a program. She held up a picture at his arrival all the dancers, Sansa in the front, 

“Did you see all these girls there” She asked, Petyr nodding while he took a long sip from his drink. 

He saw Lysa squeal at the thought of him once conversing to the dancers she would see on stage. _If you only knew_. As they finished their drinks the lights flickered, people beginning to drift to their seats. Lysa tugged at his sleeve as he finished his drink, reluctantly setting it on the table as he could not bring it to their seats. Petyr did manage to empty Lysas glass, rushing to catch up to her. 

In his seat, Petyr moved about - adjusting his jacket until he felt comfortable. He did admit to himself the seats were quite good, the stage only 15 feet away, Petyr could even stand and peer into the orchestra pit if he pleased. As the lights began to dim he heard the chatter die down and could hear Lysa to his right taking in a deep breath. He leaned his elbow on the arm rest, cupping his head in his hand. It grew dark and the music started. Peytr drifted off as the music rose, the lights growing bright - only sitting up at the flash of porcelain skin and red hair drifting across the stage, _there she was._ Sansa. 

She was full of grace, her movements and her body sculpted, her eyes so bright and full of want. Petyr could feel her body against his own, Sansas soft lips on his. He stopped himself from groaning aloud. As his eyes followed her across the stage, she really was a gifted and beautiful dancer. Her whole being wrapped into her movements. Petyr thought about how she moved against him, allowing himself to shudder, feeling a wave of depression wash over him at the thought of never holding or touching her again. 

* * *

 At dinner Petyr had quite the bitter disposition, sitting at the table in silence, even after the food had come - just sitting and ruminating while he sipped at glass after glass of scotch. Lysa seemed unaware, still in rapture from the performance, chatting away. The woman did enough talking for the two of them; for he was in no mood, not after that. Watching Sansa on stage was like seeing a ghost. She had been fragile, all white and porcelain - Sansas dancing haunted him. The story, her face how it looked so full of yearning, hope and sorrow. Petyr wanted her and he was angry, that his marriage to a women he didn’t even love stood in the way. That he was a coward and had done nothing about it. Petyr suddenly felt Lysas hand grip his arm -

“It's her!” was all she could say. “What?” he asked, irritated.

“The dancers, oh my! All of them; Gisell- Sansa, they are here! I have to say hello, I’m going to buy her a drink as a thank you.” 

“Lysa, I really don’t think that is-“ before he could finish, Lysa has already left the table.

Petyr could see Sansa stood apart from the others, he even saw her friend Margaery. _No, no, no - God fucking dammit, this is not fucking happening. Not like this._ He had imagined this moment, without his wife of course, but there she was - tapping Sansa on the shoulder, introducing herself and now talking to the woman he had slept with only days prior, the one who consumed his thoughts. 

He turned to look away, hoping Sansa wouldn’t catch his gaze, “Petyr!” he saw Lysa waving out of the corner of his eye.

“Come here and meet the principal ballerina!” Petyr hesitated and saw her jaw tighten, the women stamp her foot like her son. Grabbing his drink with a heavy sigh he walked towards the bar with his head down, delaying the moment when their eyes would meet. Lysa continued talking, Sansas not breaking eye contact, a pleasant smile across her face as she politely sipped at the champagne Lysa had bought her. Lysa stopped talking -  _this was it_. 

 “Sansa, this is my husband Petyr, we loved your performance tonight.” Petyr looked up and their eyes met again.

He stopped breathing,  _just as beautiful as I remember._ Sansa’s eyes locked with his, the smallest blush appearing, a look of shock and sadness sweep across her face - in an instant it was gone. Petyr straightened his shoulders and jacket, coughing as he looked away for he was blatantly staring. Both exchanged little glances, uncomfortably shifting while they stood, Lysa chatting away. While Lysa asked Sansa questions about her dancing and over trivial crap. Petyr stole a glance at the red-head, his eyes sweeping over her figure -  _fuck, so lovely._ He couldn't help but notice the dancer rarely broke a smile. Petyr felt tugging at his sleeve -  _  
_

"His company,  _Vale_ sponsors the show - they've been supporting the ballet for years." Lysa looked up at Petyr at gave him a knowing smile. 

" _Oh, well_ \- thank you Vale" Sansa didn't mention Petyr - not like that night. 

"What do you do Petyr?" She gave Petyr a hard stare; "I'm a CFO." Petyr ran his hand through his hair while he spoke, breaking eye contact. 

"Sounds boring" Sansa gave a little sardonic laugh. Finishing off her glass of champagne, she set it on the counter with a sudden clink; 

"Lysa,  _Petyr_ \- it was lovely meeting the both of you. Enjoy the rest of your night -  _together._ " Before Sansa could turn to walk away, Lysa leaned in and gave the woman a hug goodbye, Sansa shocked by the sudden embrace.

Petyr and Sansas eyes locked with Lysa turned away. His eyes burned and were full of longing, Sansa closing her eyes at his stare; Petyr seeing them open - dusted with tears. She gave a sad smile and quickly turned to find her friends. As Sansa pushed through the crowd, Petyr saw Margaery, a scowl on the brunettes face, seeing Sansa expression as she approached.  

“Lets go” Petyr said in a stern voice, grabbing ahold of Lysas arm. He wanted to get the fuck out of there. 

The drive home had been silent and when they stepped through the doors, Lysa was engulfed by Robin - fpr which Petyr was grateful. He walked up the stairs to their room, leaving the two downstairs, a dark look on his face. Quickly removing his tux he went to splash cold water on his face before laying down. Petyr would pretend to be asleep once Lysa stepped through their door, he didn’t like feel pretending to enjoy her pantings above him. Pulling out his phone, Petyr pulled up Sansas number and stared. Giving a deep breath, without much thought he pressed it - _new message_.

_"Sansa, I want to apologize..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry - next time it will be nothing but P & S; which is what we all want anyways ;).


	5. Coffee and Liquor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr apologizes and Sansa accepts. 
> 
> They end up meeting again and their emotions get the best of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really happy with this chapter. I hope you will be too; Sansa and Petyr meet again. The calm before the storm ;).
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts and thank you for all the support!

_…Then do it.”_

_“In person. Please”_

Silence. With that message no immediate response came. After staring at the screen for 5 minutes, Petyr reluctantly set his phone on the night stand. Closing his eyes and cursing himself, he heard a small vibration; 

 _“When? I will only give you 20 minutes. And thats it.”_ Petyr breathed in deep, _thank god._  

_“Coffee? Tomorrow? 8:30?”_

_“Will your wife be ok with that?”_

A small frown spread across his face; “ _Sansa, please.”_

_“… 8:30 then. The Florence Cafe.”_

_“Thank you - truly. And your dancing was beautiful.”_

_“Thank you Petyr.”_

Smiling at the thought of seeing Sansa again, Petyr deleted the messages - Lysa would never know. He could now sleep and dream about her knowing within 8 hours their eyes would lock again, _he could explain - something_. Within 10 minutes he heard Lysa walk through the bedroom door. Petyr closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, an actual smile on his face. 

* * *

It had been easy to leave that morning and even easier to lie. Petyr often went into the office on weekends and to further improve his chances, he had promised to take Robin to the park when he got back.

The man was a nervous wreck, waiting at the cafe and hoping Sansa would be true to her word and show up. Tapping his foot, playing with his phone, fidgeting in his seat - Petyr waited. Finally, a flash of red hair caught his eye and turning his head, Petyr stopped breathing at the sight of her _._ Sansa stood in the doorway in a poplin shirt dress. The short sleeves rolled up, the top buttons undone, showing a lacy bra beneath it, a belt cinched around her tiny waist. Her hair messy and rumpled, her lips pink and kissable. Sansa surveyed the busy cafe, their eyes finally locking. Whether Sansa would ever dare to admit it, she smiled at the sight of him - which he readily returned, feeling there was some hope for reconciliation. Petyr stood up as she neared the small table, themselves now inches away from each other. All he could think about was how he wanted to kiss her pink lips. Petyr cleared his throat, she gave him a calculated smile; unsure where this would be going; 

He stuck his hands in his pockets, so as not to reach out to her; “Good morning Sansa.” 

“Good morning Petyr.” She breathed. 

“Umm… what would you like to drink?” 

“English Breakfast please, with a little milk” She held up her fingers, as if to indicate how much. He nodded and walked to the counter. 

Sansa sighed with his back turned and slowly lowered herself into a chair, placing her hands in her lap; clutching her knees. She was slightly nervous. 

Minutes later Petyr returned, placing their two mugs on the table. She moved and grasped at the ceramic with both hands. Staring, Petyr could see her breasts pressed together; to distract himself he took a drink of his americano. They stared in silence, the two fiddling with their respective mugs. 

Finally Sansa cleared her throat; “So?” she arched her brow. 

He sighed and leaned back into the chair; “I wanted to apologize Sansa.” 

She looked down at the table, refusing to meet his stare. Petyr placed one of his hands on the table, clenching and releasing his fist. 

“Thank you” she whispered, “You lied, _and it hurt_.” With that she looked up. _God, her eyes were so blue._

“I really regret that, I regret how it happened, _when it happened.”_ Again more silence, the two of them staring, trying to read each other. 

“Do you really mean that?” Sansas expression was something Petyr couldn’t place.

“God, yes I do.” Petyr replied, “I am sorry that I lied to you, that I hate myself for. How I left it, that I didn’t apologize sooner _._ ” 

He leaned in close to her, “Sansa... I have thought of nothing else all week. Fuck - I dream about you.” his voice was low, his green-grey eyes staring hard at her eyes of blue, “Have you thought of me? At all?” 

She breathed in deeply and placed her own hand on the table, their fingers touching; “Petyr…” She stopped and bit her lower lip, Petyr held his breath. 

She looked away for a moment before locking their eyes again, “When I saw you… “ She sighed again, “When I saw you - I felt something; Iike a thread… tugging me towards- _It’s just, why do you have to be married_?” her voice cracked a little. 

He took her hand in his, she didn’t pull away. Instead she intertwined their fingers together. He gave her hand a squeeze. She laughed a little, and holding her free hand to her cheek she looked away; “I’m sorry; I must sound _absolutely fucking crazy_.” He shook his head. 

He knew. Of course the night they spent together had been passionate, something else pulled him to her; neither could explain it.

She continued, “Your a married man, Petyr. It would be so wrong to continue -“  “Sansa, I just need to see you again, talk to you - _anything_ ” he seemed slightly panicked, the thought of Sansa walking away from him - the thought of her out of his life killed him. 

She closed her eyes, he could see tears gathering on her lashes. “Please.” Petyr begged her, their grip on each other growing tighter. When she opened her eyes, she stared deep into him - the only response she could give was a slight nod and a smile. Sansa and Petyr held hands, neither of them pulling apart.

* * *

They couldn’t seem to leave each other and sat in the coffee shop for the next three hours; talking, smiling. Her foot playfully grazing his leg, his hand covering hers on the table. She leaned her head on one of her hands as they talked, a small blush on her face. One would of thought from a distance they were on a date.

Finally Petyr looked at his watch, it was almost noon - he would have to leave. “ _Shit!_ I have to -“ She nodded slowly. 

“I should go too…” they quickly rose and walked side by side out of the cafe. Stopping outside the door Petyr stuck his hands in his pockets, rocking nervously back and forth; Sansa fingered the hem of her dress, both looked down. 

Sansa finally spoke; “Well I guess this is goodbye” her voice seemed a little sad.

“It is” Petyr ran his hands through his hair, his eye contact not breaking. 

Petyr took a small step forward and taking Sansas hand is his, he gave her a slight tug. Easily giving in she leaned into him, both staring at each other. The two kissed. Both closed their eyes at the touch, their muscles relaxing. Petyr felt her hands on his chest. Sansa felt his arms snaked around her middle. Finally releasing each other with forlorn looks, Petyr and Sansa turned to walk in opposite directions. Both turning to stare as the other walked away. 

Walking towards the train Petyr felt his phone vibrate, pulling it out he saw it was from Sansa; 

_“You know just talking is not going to work, right?”_

He smirked and texted back; 

“ _Sansa_ … _I don’t care”_

Within a few hours, Petyr had texted her again, starting a pattern that would continue throughout the following week. The texts were harmless - almost. Petyr was careful not to be flirtatious, Sansa the same, but it couldn’t help but drift there. Slowly he was breaking her down - he had already been broken the moment their eyes locked.

Petyr gave Sansa little windows into his life along with little quips on his failing marriage - as if to _ease_ her mind, to which Sansa always countered, " _T_ _hen leave Petyr"._

This would stop the messages for a time, though only an hour or so would pass until each one would see a message light up their perspective screens. It seemed so easy to Petyr. He was always on his phone at home - working; it was the perfect excuse if Lysa ever asked, him not wanting to break the chain between himself and the red head. Finally after days of texting, Sansa opened up a text that made her freeze; " _Have a drink with me - Thursday night."_ Sansa knew whatever she said next would dictate their _relationship_ from here on out so she delicately skirted the issue. 

* * *

Walking into her dressing room after Thursday's performance Sansa stopped and gasped, smiling at a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase, set on her vanity. Mums, peonies, dahlias, and lilies piled together, the flowers all a creamy white with the softest hints of green, blue, and purple at their tips. Sansa closed her eyes, taking in their scent, feeling the velvety petals - Stopping at the brush of paper. Gingerly pulling out a small card, she read the note,  _Call me. XO, P._

Instinctively she picked up her phone and stared at the screen, looking up to eye the beautiful bouquet in front of her. Sitting down, Sansa looked straight ahead, trying to find some guidance, anywhere - even in the air. She ached for Petyrs touch, his presence, _that she knew_ but she didn’t want it to be like this. Her own sense of morality ate at her, if someone she loved was to find comfort in another - she would be absolutely devastated. Breathing in deep she lay her head on the vanity and sighed. Whatever idea of morality Sansa thought she had, she knew her mind was already made up and had been for weeks. Sansa picked up the phone, dialing his number. 

He picked up in two rings, without any preamble Sansa spoke, “They are so beautiful Petyr, thank you.” 

“Glad you like them” Sansa sensed a hint of smugness in his tone, “Do you still want to buy me a drink tonight?” Sansa voice seemed breathless. 

“Always, anytime for you Sansa.” He shot back. 

She gave him a flirtatious laugh, “The Knee High Stocking Company in 30 minutes?” 

“I will be there." With that, she ended the call.

Sansa quickly disrobed, pulling her hair out of the braided bun and removing her stage makeup, only to put on something more appropriate. She gave herself smoky eyes and deep red lips; highlighted her cheekbones. Spraying her tousled locks with hairspray and pulling on an emerald shift dress with black heels Sansa practically ran through the stage area; only turning to yell goodbye to Margaery as she grabbed her black coat and bag. Stepping outside into the cool spring air Sansa could feel every nerve in her body as she walked down the street to the bar, her stomach in knots. Approaching her destination, Sansa stopped to catch her breath and inspect herself in the reflection of an empty store front. With one last deep breath, Sansa straightened her shoulders and stepped into the dimly lit bar. 

It was full of people. Sansa slowly threaded her way through the crowd. Sensing his presence Sansa turned and saw him sitting at the bar, Petyrs hands wrapped around a glass of bourbon. Quietly stepping forward, she leaned to whisper in his ear; “you waiting for someone?” As if acting on instinct, Petyr turned towards her voice and gripped her waist. He didn't release her. 

Sansa smiled, noting the expression on his face - desire, want, anticipation. She knew her own face a jumble of emotions. Sitting down in the chair next to him she rested her arm on the bar, staring “Well?” 

“Sansa.. I am glad you came” Petyr smiled. 

She leaned in again “So am I.” 

He laughed, “Name your pleasure Sweetling.” Her eyes darkened.  

“Scotch and soda please” Sansa noted at the bartenders approach, the man nodded and came back a moment later, a drink placed by her persons. She thanked him and took a sip. Sansa looked over to her left to see Petyr staring. She set down her drink, angling her body to face him. Petyr did the same. They sat a few moments in silence, listening to the people all around them and the Billie Holiday playing in the background. 

Sansa spoke first, “Thank you again for the flowers Petyr. Really, they are so beautiful” He smiled, “Of course, it felt good to buy them for you - you deserve it”  

Sansa blushed a little. "So what do you want to talk about?” She eyed him, _do you still dream about me, do you love your wife?_

“Where to begin” Sansa sad roundly, he smirked and gently tucked a wavy tendril behind her ear. His touched burned. 

“So… your wife -“ “Yes, that was _my wife_ ” “She seemed… _sweet._ ” Sansa took a sip of her drink, watching Peytr grimace at the thought of Lysa.

“How long have you been -“ 

“Sansa, why are we talking about this? Why now?” 

“Because I _want to_ Petyr. I like it when your uncomfortable, I was far too nice last time.” She looked directly at him.

“Fuck.” He ran his fingers through his hair. _Sansa liked it when he did that._

 _“_ Well, you are doing a wonderful job” He took a long drink. 

Sansa toyed with her glass, “You can leave at any time” she lowered her voice.

“I don’t want to” it was Petyrs turn to stare. For a minute they sat in silence; 

“Ummm… Why are you married Petyr?” Sansa needed answers.

He winced a little, turning away to run his thumb over the rim of his drink, Petyr sighed; “Because I’m fooling myself into thinking it will go away.”

“It won’t unless you let it” She countered.

“I know” He seemed a little irritated but continued, “Sansa, truthfully, I have been miserable for many years - lonely even, even before my _marriage_ I just figured any relationship I had would be like that. So I’ve just put up with it. Only until recently, pleasure - joy in another didn’t seem possible”  

“Only until recently?” Sansa was quiet, looking at Petyrs face she could see that his words were true. It saddened her. 

“Yes, until _you”_ he met her stare, his shoulders slumped - as if a weight had been lifted. She tilted her head up so she wouldn’t cry, she felt his hand fall to rest in her lap. Dabbing her eyes with a cocktail napkin she looked away with a sigh before turning back to Petyr. His view of marriage, of _relationships_ was too cryptic for Sansa. And the irony of it all, him meeting her - the poor timing. It was too much. 

“So… you got married fully expecting it to be… - I don’t understand, what happened to you Peytr?” Sansa’s voice cracked, she was growing frustrated.

Sansa continued, “You’re acting like a coward.”

His eyes darkened, Petyr straightened himself a little, leaned in and squeezed Sansas thigh - tightly, so much so Sansa put her hands over his in surprise.  

Instantly lessening the grip on her leg Petyr sighed and looked into Sansas eyes; “Yes, I am a coward.” He seemed deflated. 

“I can’t save you…” Sansa said in a near whisper, her face inches away from his.

“I thought I could do this but I can't Petyr. Please don’t drag me into this more than you already have.  _I_ will be truthful now and then I have to leave _."_ She felt his grip on her leg again but continued, seeing the disappointment spreading across his features.

"That one night we had it… I can’t even explain it. The way you look at me, the way you kiss me - it is if you are to die tomorrow; it makes me weak.” She became a little breathless, “But the simple fact is that you are married - to _Lysa._ Marriage may not mean anything to you, but that means something to _me_ and to _her._ I can’t be with you; I cannot be the _other woman._ As much as I want you Petyr, that fact stands in the way. I cannot see you until you are single.Then, you may have me _whenever_ and _wherever_ you like. But... I cannot hold my breath waiting for you. Goodbye Petyr” With that she rose, her eyes now wet.

Rising, grabbing her coat and bag Sansa turned to leave. Petyr stood at the sight of her walking away and reached into his pocket. Finding a bill he tossed a $50 on the counter, pushing through the crowd after her. Through the windows he saw Sansa flagging a cab and began to panic. Pushing open the door Petyr ran to Sansa and without thinking grabbed her waving hand - pressing her against him, locking his lips to hers. Petyrs hands rested on her temples as pressed his lips to her own, not allowing her to leave. Petyrs kiss took her breath away. Sansa closed her eyes at the contact, her coat and bag falling to the ground, sighing at the intensity and desire. Sansa leaned into him, her arms wrapping around Petyrs shoulders, resting her hands on the back of his head. Petyr could feel her muscles relax, the two of them pressing closer to the other.  All sadness and anger fell away just leaving the two of them standing there, kissing on a city sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI in my town, The Knee High Stocking Company is a speakeasy :).


	6. View of the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petyr and Sansa come to a mutual understanding and a mutual agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just enjoy... that is all.

They pulled apart to breathe. Their foreheads touching, eyes locked. Sansas lips were swollen from kissing. She put her lips to his again, Petyr moaning at the contact. His hand gripped at her waist and one of Sansas legs snaked between Petyrs own - allowing herself to be closer to him. Her arms resting on his shoulders, intertwined. Petyrs one free hand on the back of her neck. 

He pulled his face away from hers, Petyrs grey-green eyes dark; “Sansa, don’t leave - I need you.” 

Her face was flushed, full of arousal, “I need you too.” She whispered, their lips pressed together again. Sansa moaned and moved to kiss his neck. 

“Petyr -” she gasped, “Where should we go?” He shook his head quickly but stopped to lift his hand and hail a cab; “I have an idea.”  

A cab pulled up to the curb and rolled the window down; “Where to?” the man asked, taking in the gentleman and the beautiful redhead he gripped around the waist, kissing his neck; “The Pan Pacific on 5th.” Petyr managed to spill out.  

“ - Get in.” 

With that he opened the door for Sansa to crawl in. As soon as the door slammed shut and the car lurched forward, Petyr pulled Sansa into his lap, moving her bare leg across his own, the two continuing to kiss. Adjusting herself Sansa pressed closer to him. Petyrs hand resting on her thigh and moving underneath the fabric of her dress, making circles on her bare skin - Sansa moaning into his mouth at the contact. The cab driver didn’t seem to mind the panting and the touching - they were not his first passengers to act as such. 

The hotel was not far away. Without the cab coming to a full stop Petyr opened the door and held out his hand - Sansa grabbing it and falling into him, his hand gripping at her waist. Two twenties were handed to the driver, Petyr yelling in thanks over his shoulder as he shuffled them into the lobby. As they reached the front desk Sansa stopped, only to feel Petyr behind her, pressing her into the wood - feeling how hard he was she bit her lip. Bracing herself she gripped the counter with both hands, arching her back into him. Petyr snaked one hand around her waist, the other pushing her hair aside to eagerly kiss her neck.

“Evening; what can I do for you” The front desk attendant eyed Petyr and Sansa with a raised eyebrow. Taking in the two, both clearly aroused and about to fuck in the front lobby. 

Petye tried to calm his voice, but it still came out low and unfocused; “I, we need the corner suite for Vale, _now.”_ With a small nod the man behind the counter moved quickly and turned his back, Petyr tossing $400 onto the counter.

Sansa could feel his other hand moving up her thigh, tugging at her delicates.  Stifling a little moan, Sansa turned and pressed herself into him.

Turning to see the cash on the counter, the attendant slid the paperwork aside and gave Petyr the card key, motioning his head to the elevator; “Room 715, _enjoy_ your stay.” 

Within seconds they were at the elevator. Sansa pushing the up arrow only to feel her hands and forehead pressed against the wall. Petyrs hands roaming her bare thighs, slipping under her dress and kissing her neck from behind. The door slid open and Petyr pushed Sansa against the metal wall, turning to press the button for the 7th floor. Back to the task at hand, Petyr gripped her thigh - moving his hand farther and farther up Sanas dress until he felt the lace of her delicates. Pushing the fabric aside he slid several fingers inside of her. He groaned into her neck, moving inside her, further aroused from her heat and wetness.

Sansa gasped in pleasure and closed her eyes. Kissing his open mouth, biting his lower lip she gave a small smirk and slid one hand between his trousers and bare skin - feeling his hardness. 

“Fuck Sansa!” Petyr groaned at her roaming hands. 

The two only pulled away as the doors opened, exposing the seventh floor. Grabbing her hand they rushed down the hallway, stopping at room 715. Sansa leaned against the closed door, Petyr kissing her neck as he moved to find the key. With a click he heard the door unlock, Petyr gripping at the handle. He could feel Sansa undoing his belt and unzipping his pants, turning the handle the two fell inside.  

Slamming the door shut, Sansa pawed at Petyrs jacket, tossing it aside. Petyr pulled Sansas dress over her head and threw it, only to hold her face in his hands as they continued to kiss. He could feel her tugging and loosening his tie, frantically unbuttoning his shirt. Not wanting to wait anymore Petyr lifted Sansa off the ground and threw her on the bed, red hair fanning out onto the white blankets. Sitting up, Sansa pulled at his belt loops and Petyr fell into her, his hands gripping at her hip and thigh. Lifting her leg as he pressed his hardness into her center Petyr stopped and rose a little, moaning aloud at the sight of Sansa underneath him, in lacy black bra and panties. How her chest was rising and falling, how she stared at him - the dark look of desire on her face. 

“Petyr...” She whispered - he waited, “I need you to fuck me."  

Petyr groaned, “Gladly.”

With that he slid off her panties, kissing her thighs and legs as he pulled off her black heels and removed his remaining clothing. She unclasped her bra and sitting up on her knees at the edge of the bed Petyr crushed her to him, his free hand slipping between her thighs and again to her wet sex. Moving inside her she arched into him, Peytrs hand drifting to the crook in her shoulder, his thumb gently moving up and down her throat. They made eye contact, her blue eyes dark and hazy. Pushing Sansa down he thrust himself into her, her eyes closing and moaning at the sensation of Petyr entering her. 

Arching her back, Sansa pressed her head into the white blankets as Petyr moved above her. Kissing and nipping at her naked breasts. Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist; gasping as he moved inside her, arching her hips just so, moaning at the feeling of him sliding in and out of her. Petyr moved his hands to Sansas, intertwining their fingers - their hands tightly gripping the others. The two stifling their moans with an impassioned kiss. 

She moved her face away from his; “Harder Petyr” Sansa whispered, the two pressing into the other at a more fervid pace.  

The growing slick with sweat, Petyr could feel Sansa growing warmer, tighter. Her eyes closing, the panting and moaning grower louder and deeper. He himself feeling ready to release. Petyr slid his arms under Sansas shoulder and neck, cradling her head - their faces now inches apart.

She gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin; “I need to hear you come.” He panted, staring into her beautiful eyes, “Then I need you to say my name, Pety - ahh!”

Her toes curled and Petyr felt her walls clench, with that he groaned deeply into Sansas ear; “Fuck, Sansa!” With one last thrust he felt himself spill inside her. 

They laid in silence; listening to the others breathing, feeling the warmth of their connected bodies. Finally stirring, Petyr lifted his head slightly to witness Sansas eyes drifting from his mouth to his eyes. Seeing a small smile creep across her lips, a smile grew on his. The two leaned into each other, their foreheads touching. Petyr giving Sansa the lightest kiss on her forehead, her eyelids, her parted lips. She quietly gasped at his touch.

* * *

Finally separating, both lay on the bed - staring at the ceiling. Sansa’s eyes drifted to the view of the city which made up two walls of the room as it was a corner suite. The city was the only thing giving any light to their darkened room. The view was beautiful. As she shifted, Sansa felt the bed move and heard the click of the phone, Petyr politely asking the front desk to bring up a bottle of champagne. After the call ended, she felt his kiss on her naked back, moving up her spine to her neck. She tilted her head forward, allowing him easier access. Sansa could feel Petyrs arms snake around her waist, pulling her backwards towards him. She leaned into his bare chest, closing her eyes at the contact of bare skin. They sat there until a small knock was heard at the door. Petyr moved quickly, pulling on his trousers, not bothering with a shirt or belt. Sansa pulled the sheets from the bed, wrapping herself in the fabric; standing to have a better view of the city below them. The twinkling lights, the cars moving down the streets. She didn’t turn when she heard a cork pop, the sound of champagne being poured into two glasses. Feeling a gentle hand on her shoulder Sansa turned, quietly thanking him as he handed her a glass. 

Again, she turned to stare at the city. Petyr wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head in the crook of her neck. “Lovely view, isn’t it” He murmured.

“It is” Sansa whispered, “ - Shouldn’t you be going home Petyr?” She heard a quiet sigh, muffled against her bare skin. “I’m not going anywhere - unless you want me to leave” She shook her head; “No.”

He moved to sit in the chair set in the corner of the room - his back turned to the city skyline. She sat on the bed, their knees touching. Leaning towards her Sansa felt his hand on her thigh. She closed her eyes. 

“I would like to stay here tonight; sleep beside you” Sansa heard Petyr. 

She gave him an odd stare, he continued “She knows I’m not coming home, I stay here during the week because of work - quite a bit actually. _Before all of this_ my place used to be right there” He pointed to an elegant building made of glass two blocks away. 

“I work late often.” Petyr took a sip from the glass, setting it on the floor to take Sansas hand in his.

Petyr leaned in, his lips grazing her bare skin. “Please let me stay” He whispered.

Sansa turned her head slightly to kiss his earlobe; “Ok.” 

Soon after Sansa stretched the sheets and blankets back onto the bed, crawling underneath the smooth linen. Petyr slid in soon after. Both laying on their sides they faced each other. Petyr ran his hands down Sansas arms, moving to her naked back and hips, all the way down her legs. She closed her eyes at his touch. Petyr pulled her closer and Sansa willingly stayed, feeling the warmth from his chest, his rhythmic breathing. They fell asleep wrapped in each other. 

* * *

Sansa woke up to the sun in her eyes, holding out her hand to block the morning sun, resting the back of her hand against her face. Turning she quickly realized the bed was empty except for herself and shot up - “Petyr!”. 

“Yes?” She turned to see him, stepping out of the bathroom towel around his waist, toothbrush in hand. 

“Nothing.” She gave a small laugh and fell back into the sheets, arms outstretched.

Moments later she felt the blankets lift, feeling his warm skin against hers, she smelled mint as he gave her a kiss. 

“Did you think I had left you?” Petyr murmured, “Maybe” she sighed, feeling his lips on her neck. 

She arched her back, pressing her naked breasts into his chest, Petyr gave a little groan.

“I only have a little time my love, this time is yours” He kissed her parted lips. Moving to her breasts his hands gripped at her waist; he moved to kiss her tight stomach. Sansa could feel his mouth slowly moving downwards, kissing her hips his thumbs making little circles close to her center.  

“Petyr” She moaned, lifting one of her legs and slightly parting them.

She felt his mouth on her sex and gave a little squeal. Sansa could feel his smile against her skin. His tongue and mouth moving against her; gripping her hips, Petyr felt her shudder. Sansas fingers running through his hair. He could feel her back arching, how her body moved underneath him, sliding his hand up her middle he rose to kiss Sansa, she could taste herself as he pressed her to him.

Petyr slid inside her. Sansa and Petyr moved slowly, every nerve in their bodies lighting up. The pace making them cry out and tremble in each others arms. Nearing completion, Sansa snaked her tongue into Petyrs mouth - the two growing quiet and sighing into each others mouths as they finished. With a kiss, Petyr pulled away, Sansa giving a little whimper as they separated. Petyr stood and grabbed the towel from off the floor wiping at his face and moving to put on his trousers and shirt.  

“Wearing the same thing to work?” She asked breathlessly, one eyebrow arched.

He smirked, “I have a few suits and things at the office to change into.”

Instead of putting on his jacket Petyr sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on Sansas cheek; “I will have to leave soon, but I would love to order you breakfast in bed - you can stay until checkout if you would like.”  

“Thank you Petyr” The sadness apparent in her voice. 

“Sansa, there's something I would like to discuss with you before I leave.” She looked up.

His stare was full of purpose, “I have to see you again.” Sansa sighed and tried to look away. Petyr reached out, his other hand on her temple - not allowing her to break his stare. She felt her eyes grow wet and closed them.  

“Petyr, this was moment of pure _weakness,_  I meant what I said, I -“

“I know. But I cannot wait until then. Fuck, I hardly think I can go a day without seeing you Sansa. I will leave her but I cannot promise it will be soon, divorce is messy and takes time. However long it takes I can't wait until then -  _I need you_.” Tears fell down her porcelain skin.

The thought of being without Petyr left her empty and hollow. She couldn’t wait either. Sansa couldn’t explain it but she felt connected to Peytr in some way she couldn’t verbalize. There was a thread that tugged at her when he was away, her insides burned when they were together. The chemistry, the comfort she felt in his presence was something either could not ignore. 

“I don’t want you to leave her on my behalf” She whispered.

“It was bound to happen” he smirked, “I would and _want_ to do anything for you.” She gave him a little smile and looked away.

“Petyr”

“Yes?” Her voice suddenly grew somber;

“Don’t play with me. The  _nature_ of this situation is all based off of lies and whether it is right or wrong I'm putting my trust in you. Even though you're going behind your _wifes_ back, please don’t go behind mine. I do not know how long I can do this before breaking."

He gave her a deep stare and reached to squeeze Sansas hand, “I won’t - I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Because the second you do I have to leave you.” She whispered. All he could was nod. 

Petyr gave Sansa a kiss, wrapping his arms around her he felt her melt into him. He closed his eyes and smiled; only thinking of the woman in his arms. She was with him - now. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawt or not? Hmmm?
> 
> Thank you as always for reading!


	7. The Truth and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two lovers are in full swing, though frustrations have yet to peak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay! I've had some brutal writers block... among other distractions. One of those many distractions has been signing up for Tumblr!
> 
> I'm now a Tumblrina. Besides Petyr & Sansa shipping it will include my other infatuations please follow me:
> 
> b-baminal.tumblr.com 
> 
> And as always thank you for reading! I am so freaking jazzed at the love my fic is getting. Enjoy!

Petyrs eyes refused to leave Sansa as he picked up the phone on the bedside table, dialing the number for room service. Hearing the voice on the other end of the line he stood up to order her breakfast. Resting the phone in the crook of his neck and sticking his hands into his trouser pockets, rocking on the heels of his feet as he spoke. Smiling he said thanks and set the phone down in the receiver. _Back to the task at hand_. Resting his palms on either side of Sansas hips he leaned down, herself raising her head; their lips meeting and parting at the contact. 

“Sansa, I have to go.” Petyr whispered as they separated, forcing himself to focus as he felt her lips against his jaw and neck - his body wishing to entangle itself in hers.

One last time Sansa snaked her tongue in between his lips, gently biting at his lower lip as she pulled away. He bit her own lip in response, feeling her smile against his skin. 

“Ok.” Her tone was quiet.  

As Petyr gathered his belongings Sansa rose, pulling the sheet away from the bed and wrapping herself in it. Both of them slowly moving towards the door. 

Petyr turned the handle and opening it a crack he turned to Sansa; “Goodbye Sweetling.” She gave him a little smile, resting her hand on the door, looking up at him through her lashes. 

Before completely stepping into the hallway, Petyr stopped; “When will I see you again?” 

Breaking their eye contact, Sansa slowly leaned in, her lips grazing his ear. “My place Saturday, find a way to be there Petyr. I want to fuck you on my couch.”  

He sucked in a breath, “Oh god yes.” He groaned, his mouth meeting hers.

The two finally released, dark smiles as Petyr walked to the elevator and Sansa closed the door. Finding himself alone in the elevator, Petyr ran his hands over his face as he leaned against the wall. Letting his hands rest at his sides, a smile quickly formed on his lips. Letting the weight of the evening sink in, Petyr found himself laughing with joy. The sensation, it was all so much; her eyes burning into him and  _he needed her._  He was a man obsessed and Petyr couldn’t care less, Sansa was all he wanted. 

* * *

_Two months later_

The lies came easily.

* * *

Sansas hands rested on the pillow next to her head, palms facing up. Her cheeks were flushed, a small smile on her moist lips. Sansa gave a tiny gasp at his touch, Petyr kissing her abdomen, drifting upwards. His movements languid - controlled. He kissed her breasts, taking one of the peaks in his mouth, nipping lightly at the pink flesh. Petyr felt her hips arching into him, her thighs press against his hips. Running his hand down her waist, along her underside he gripped at her bare leg, running his nails along the soft skin. Moving from her perfect breasts Petyr lightly kissed at her collar bone, her neck. Sansa moaned, only feeling Petyrs warm breath against her skin. His hands drifted upwards weaving his fingers into her own. Sansa gyrated her hips ever so slowly. Hearing Petyr groan into her neck, Sansa sighed through her parted lips - silenced by his kiss. It was gentle and ardent though growing deeper. He pulled his hands from her own and cupped her head in his hands, their eyes locking. Sansa lifted her head slightly, touching her forehead to Petyrs. 

Their bodies were flush, their breathing fervid, labored. Feeling her chest rising and falling Petyr closed his eyes, sensing the rhythm of their breathing. Sansa was the first to break; " _Petyr please._ "

With that he slid inside her. " _Oh fuck._ " He groaned.

The two of them whimpered at the contact, it had been a slow build-up, the tension thick. Already the pace seemed to quicken, fueled by a desire to close any distance between them, sate their hunger for the other.

Sansa gripped at his arms, her eyes closing, head tilting into the pillow, "Deeper, _god_ , I want - I need you inside me." Petyr felt a shiver, he could have came just from her words alone.

Moving from his arms Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck, their faces only inches from each other. Petyr rested his forehead against her own, their faces slick with perspiration, "Sansa - you feel so fucking good." With that he gave several hard thrusts and poured into her.

He slid away, Sansa whimpering as she felt hands move toward her middle, to her center. She was so sensitive, her body was on fire. At his gentle touch she arched her hips and mewed. He sat up and she followed, with his free arm he pulled her tight against him, her hands on his bare chest as she closed her eyes to his touch. All Petyr could do was stare, watching her moan and gasp. She rested her head against his shoulder as his fingers continued to move inside her, Sansas hips rubbing against his core, already he could find himself growing again in arousal. Her sighing and movements exciting him.

He gripped at her bare arms and pushed Sansa back into the soft sheets. Quickly Petyr settled himself on top of her naked body and thrust into her. She moaned, he continued, Sansas breathing growing erratic. She grew warmer, her walls tighter. "Oh God, Petyr -" Her legs wrapped around his hips, her toes curling.

She leaned back and with a final moan she came. Petyr quickly fell over the edge, gripping at her tightly. The two continued to kiss each other, wrapped in each others embrace. 

* * *

 

They lay twisted in the sheets, Sansa resting on top of Petyrs bare chest. Her head in the crook of her own arm, her other hand clasped in his, their fingers intertwined. Petyrs own free hand running itself up and down her naked back. Their eyes locked, refusing to pull away from each other. 

Sansa and Petyr were as a lock and key. They fit perfectly together, they needed each other. Self-admittedly both felt in a fog, their thoughts muddled when they were apart, only feeling alive and fully present when they were together again. Sansa broke eye contact first blushing and biting her lower lip; moving her face closer to his, the two kissing - her hands against his bare chest. Petyr groaned, pressing her naked body tighter to hers. Moving slightly he placed both hands on her cheeks, his thumbs running over the soft skin, “Sansa” he whispered. She closed her eyes to his voice, it soothed her, quieted her insides. 

“Petyr.” She responded; If they had not been only inches apart he would not have heard his name. Sansa saying his name gave him shivers. He felt satiated, calm. 

* * *

 The evening had crept in, the sky turning hues of purple and red. The setting sun reflecting off the windows. Petyr had come by after work;  _Another late night Lysa, the audit is taking longer than expected_. Beyond these transparent lies,the man was taking no real precautions to hide the affair, the feelings towards his and Lysas _relationship_ reduced to nothing.

Gently Sansa pushed herself off the bed, sliding off the tangled sheets. Plucking his own shirt off the floor, Sansa draped it over her naked body. She leaned down to kiss him; Petyr tugging at the collar, pulling her close. He could feel the tips of her fingers grazing his bare skin before she pulled away.

“Dinner?” Sansa smiled over her shoulder as she walked through the bedroom doorway, he could see her fingers drift across the velvet of her sofa as she walked towards the kitchen, past the sitting area.

He smiled, watching Sansa disappear through the kitchen archway. Petyr himself finally standing, pulling on his own trousers and undershirt - bothering with nothing else. He ran his fingers through his hair, walking into the kitchen to see her bent down, eyeing the contents of her fridge. Glancing at the open door, Petyr saw it was mostly bare except for fresh vegetables and a carton of almond milk. As a dancer Sansa self-admittedly could rarely indulge, anything pushing her over 120 pounds was a detriment. Placing himself behind her, Sansas hand moved to grip at his leg. Petyr himself running his fingers across her back, feeling the warmth through the cotton. 

She stood up and sighed, “Nothing. Take-away?” He nodded.

Ordering from the little thai place down the street Sansa and Petyr settled on her couch, himself working, herself picking up a book to read. Sansas bare legs stretched across his lap, ever so often Petyr running his hands over her smooth skin. Their little life together, their own attempt at domesticity behind closed doors - it gave him a sense of ease and belonging. It had only been a little more than eight weeks thus far but Petyr already wanted a lifetime of this,  _of her_. Leaning his head against the back of the couch he thought about home. He had tried to broach the subject of separating with Lysa, but it never seemed to stick. Instead of mentioning divorce, Petyr had taken his usual apathetic stance and had simply made himself scare; when he was home spending time with Robin, ignoring _her_. Falling asleep on the couch, even taking to sleeping in the guest room; anything - except leaving. 

Sansa eyed him as he sat deep in thought; any idea of herself discussing their situation tossed aside as she noted Petyrs expression as he watched her. After their food arrived and was eagerly consumed, it wasn’t long before they had both de-robed to lie in her bed, wrapping themselves in each other. Talking in whispers, smiling, laughing. Their impassioned kissing being the only thing to bring about any silence.

But as with the many nights before, eventually Petyr would check his phone and groan. Running his hands through his hair and sighing, Sansa looked away despondently. As she turned to get up Petyr tugged at her wrist, kissing her palm and pulling her close. Instinctually, Sansa settled back in and straddled his hips, Petyr resting his hands against her burning skin - the two staring in silence. Petyr was the first to look away, the expression in her beautiful blue eyes too much to bear.

“I hate it when you leave.” Her voice was quiet.

“I know, I want to stay here with you” He placed both his hands on Sansas temples and pulled her close, their faces touching.

He felt Sansa relax against his chest, her body flush with his. “Its been two months and you still haven’t told her” Though she couldn’t turn her head, Sansas stare drifted away from his.

“I’m sorry.” Was all Petyr could muster. He truly was sorry, it killed him to see her like this. 

Petyr wasn’t used to these sensations, he was accustomed to pity, guilt, irritation. With Sansa he wanted to make her happy, love her... the feelings left him fulfilled and frightened. Thought that fear would drift away when he looked into her eyes. He saw the same feelings reflected in her stare. They continued to sit in silence. 

“Why? Why is it taking so long” She whispered. “At least you could tell her.” Sansa seemed breathless. “God Petyr, you come over, we fuck and then you leave... and, I sleep here - _alone._ ” He kissed her, arms taking rest on her shoulders, his hands cupping the back of her head.

She moaned a little, Sansa trying to pull away; “Stop it. Don't try and quiet me.” He could feel her lips move against his skin, it gave him goosebumps. 

“Sansa” She looked him straight in the eye, “I promised not to lie to you… please understand. This is taking longer than expected, as much as I have an -  _aversion_ to her, it's still hard to tell someone you're having an affair and want to leav- ” It was now her turn to kiss him, “Petyr. Don’t don’t be a coward.” Her eyes were dark. With Sansa at his side he was truly himself, he thrived. Apart, in the den of wolves (known as Lysas house) Petyr choose instead to dull his feelings in the liquor cabinet. 

She continued, “I shouldn’t be the one to pressure you into leaving her. Do you even _want_ to leave her anymore? Or now that we’ve slept together you've gotten what you wanted -“ Sansa felt him squeeze her hands, “ _Don’t_ say shit like that, Sansa. The feelings I have for you... I've _never_ experienced them, ever. Every time I see you, I forget everything that happened before that moment.” She allowed herself to give him a sweet smile, “What?” Petyr noticed Sansa's face softening. 

“That reminds me of a quote -” He arched his eyebrow. “From _Wuthering Heights -_ ” She looked away to recite the words, “ _They forgot everything the minute they were together again.”_  

Petyr gave her a small smile. He sighed, kissing her, “Sansa, just know how deeply I care for you, what I would do.” They rested their foreheads against the other, closing their eyes, “I know, I just need you to _show_ me Petyr.” 

* * *

Back on the train home, Petyr leaned his head back into the plastic of the seat and sighed. Staring out the windows for a moment he saw the city disappearing, the sky growing darker as the buildings and busy streets gave way to suburbs. He looked away from the windows and thought back on his discussion with Sansa. His stomach already felt hollow when they were apart but now, it had a sickly feeling to it. Petyr was so caught up in her, in his work - this life he wanted; that he was willing himself to forget his marriage. The man was even leaving his wedding band at home, hoping Lysa would pick up on his frustrations and then Petyr could divulge it all, his irritation, his unhappiness, the affair. But, it never came to that.

The train approached his stop and with another heavy sigh he slipped through the open doors. With his hands in his pockets Petyr walked the last two blocks home. 

As he approached, the house was dark except for a dim light shining in the master bedroom. _Fuck._ Petyr opened the door quietly, feeling a small sense of triumph that the door didn’t creak, that the floor boards didn’t give away his footsteps as he walked into the kitchen - pouring himself a glass of water. It wasn’t until he reached the top of the stair case that Petyrs presence in the house was acknowledged.  

“Petyr?” He ran his hands through his hair and dropped them to his sides. Pushing open the bedroom door Petyr stuck his head into the lit room, Lysa moved from the bed and towards her husband. Before she could lean in for a kiss he grabbed at her shoulders; “Yes Lysa?” 

She noticed his firm grip and stopped. “Is everything ok? Is work getting to you again?” Her voice already grating.

“Its _fine.”_ He let go of her arms and sunk into the chair resting in the corner. Petyr cradled his head in his hands, not wanting to look at the other person in the room.

Petyr sighed; “You know my job has always been busy, the late nights, the hotel downtown you _know_ this -“

“Petyr, I _know_ about your work, how busy it is. I knew that when I married you" Petyr groaned, "But I haven’t seen you at all and when you _are_  home all you do is spend time with Robin, _I_ want to spend time with you Petyr.” Lysas voice had lowered. She moved towards him, and again, he stood and positioned himself away from Lysa and her grasping arms. 

She continued, “We haven’t slept together in months, I miss _feeling_ you.” She moved closer, undeterred, grabbing at his trousers.

“Petyr.” She whispered in his ear. He took a step back his hands raised, “Not tonight Lysa - I can’t” He didn’t want Sansassmell to dissipate, he didn’t want the feeling of her soft skin and kisses to be replaced by a poor substitute. Petyr just wanted to sleep in the guest bedroom and imagine he was in Sansas apartment, sleeping beside her. This is not what he wanted. 

“I want to help you relax, _unwind._ ” Again, she took a step forward and he found himself moving towards the door.

“I said NO Lysa. I don’t want to sleep with you.” Petyrs voice was firm and held an edge to it.

Lysa stopped and held her hand to her chest, seating herself on the edge of the bed. She began shaking her head, running her hands along her scalp, rocking her body slightly. _Here we go._ “I don’t make you happy, do I? _Not anymore_?”

_If ever_. She looked him over; her eyes traveling down, stopping at his hands. Her breathing quickly becoming sporadic, “You’re not wearing your ring -“

“No, no I’m not. Lysa. I don’t want to do this right now, I-” “Tell me!” Lysas voice rose, growing panicked; “Do I make you happy” Her face cracked into a strange smile.

This was too much, too different from the encounter Petyr had experienced only hours prior. 

Petyr couldn't help but give a small, sardonic laugh, “Lysa, I can't do this right now - I won't; I told you. But to answer your question, No.” With that, he turned and walked to the guest bedroom, locking the door behind him. Leaning against the door he could hear her quiet manic sobs. Slipping out of his clothes and lying down he continued to hear her pathetic moaning. Petyr moved to the old clock radio on the bedside table and flipped it on to the classical station, hoping to drown out the sobbing from the women in the next room. 


	8. Poor Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes to a head...
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  _“I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.”_  
>  \- James Joyce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been some time since the last update... winter is not my best time (though my favorite season, a conundrum). 
> 
> Besides _not_ writing, I created a playlist of songs to "accompany" this little fic - take a listen [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/bbanimal/playlist/5eaV9AOMojz8fOUbczChMm); let me know your thoughts. I think it matches the tone I've set? 
> 
> Thank you Smaragaide for the inspiration of making a playlist... music frames this for me perfectly. I can't help but think to match scenes and songs.

The movement of her tulle skirt, the silvery fabric of her top reflecting snatches of light, the clicking of her heeled sandals rang in his ears; all sounds and images he committed to memory. Sansa turned back to smile over her shoulder, a quirk of her eyebrow as she walked ahead on the sidewalk. Petyr trailing behind her, his breath hitching at her smile. Looking forward she quickened her pace, Petyr jogging to catch up - reaching out to touch her, his fingers seeking to connect with warm skin. 

“Sansa, slow down.” Petyr was already perspiring. Summer was in full swing, the night warm and sticky. 

She stopped right in front of him, Petyr instinctually wrapping his arms around Sansas waist, a sigh slipping from her mouth at the embrace. She turned, their lips meeting. He could feel a smile against his own. Petyr rested his hand against the back of her neck, fingers weaving themselves through copper hair.

“Petyr, we’re going to be late” Sansa murmured against his skin, her body arching into his - closing the void, himself responding with a kiss upon her pink lips; “We are not, I’m the one that planned this little outing - we won’t be late.” 

She pulled away, eyeing him with suspicion, “I have a feeling you’re hiding something from me.” Petyr gave her a smirk, his fingers interlocking with hers, now himself the one to lead them. “We aren’t going to the boathouse are we?” 

“Even better.” They walked in silence, the sky growing darker. 

Petyr led them through the city park. Sansa herself stopping intermittently to tug him backwards for a kiss, a touch. Petyr reacting, gently lifting her body off the ground; Sansas laughter hanging in the air, ending with sighs, her foot kicking back with their lips meeting. Every now and then strangers turned to stare and smile at the two lovers holding hands as they flitted by, a dark-haired man, a blushing redhead. Finally they reached the other side of the park and stopped. All Sansa could see was the city library. The building three-hundred years old - all stone, marble and stained-glass windows; one of her favorite places in all the city. Petyr silently led them across the street; 

“Petyr, the library? It's closed.” 

Again, he said nothing and reached for the handles of the entrance; Petyr giving her a sideways smile at the opening of the heavy oak doors.Placing his hand on the small of her back he gently nudged her forward. The library was dark, Petyr motioning for her to walk up the marble steps. The sound of her heels against the marble notifying the security guard; the man nodding at Petyr in recognition and quietly receding. Reaching the top of the steps he led the way, weaving them through the aisles and shelves of books. Sansa couldn’t help but run her fingers along their spines as she walked by, taking in the smells of aged paper and rich wood. Reaching the back wall they were met with two french doors and with a small push from Petyr they peeled opened, revealing the stone walkway. Turning to their right and up a small flight of stairs. Sansa was met with the observation deck of the library, overlooking the river, the harbor, the city, it’s monuments. The deck itself occupied by a small round table with two glasses and a bottle of champagne; every open surface - save the table, covered with hundreds of lit candles. 

Sansa stopped, her mouth open, her hands moving to cover her eyes from the shock. She felt Petyr behind her, his arms around her waist, a warm breath felt against her ear; “Happy Birthday my love.” With a little chuckle he pulled her hands away, smiling, placing chaste kisses on her lips.

Sansa choked a little, “Petyr you didn’t have to do this -“ “But I wanted to.” He stopped, “Do you like it?” his voice hesitant, unsure; _maybe a little too much._ She nodded her head and leaned in close, Sansas voice barely audible; “It's beautiful - no one has ever done anything like this for me before. _”_

 _“Anything for you sweetling._ ” He breathed, taking in her scent, her warmth - not daring to think of the one thing he had yet to do for her. 

She was too rapt in the moment to pause at his statement. Herself walking over to an open ledge leaning over, taking in a view of the city. Her eyes closing, tilting her head back at a small breeze, cooling her face. Sansa heard the pop of a cork, the pouring of liquid, feeling a burning hand gripping at her shoulder as Petyr handed her a glass. She turned to clink their glasses, lightly pressing her free hand to his chest Sansas face inches from his. Looking at him through her eyelashes, watching his eyes as they darted across her face. She felt both his hands against her warm skin, running his fingers along her cheekbones, the champagne quickly forgotten. 

“You’re beautiful” He whispered. 

Sansa leaned in ever so slowly, feeling a hand slide to the small of her back; easing her into his frame. 

Petyr too engrossed in her slight machinations, continued to stare, “I drown in those eyes.” 

She kissed him lightly, their eyes closing at the touch of skin. Slowly pulling apart she smiled and looked away for a moment before locking eyes again, blue and green and grey intermingling. 

“Sansa.” His voice low and quiet. Petyr pulled her close, their bodies now flush. 

“I don’t know how to say this” He felt her body tense, Peytr smiled, sensing her body slowly unraveling; “God. I care for you, more than I’ve ever cared for anyone…” He heard her breathing stop, Sansas body still. His fingers running along the smooth fabric of her top, sensing the warm skin underneath, wishing to rip at the fabric, expose the flesh underneath.

Her eyes grew darker, Sansas face inching closer, the soft skin of her pink lips brushing against his own. Opening his mouth ever so slightly he whispered the words that had wished to spill from his mouth for months; 

“I love you.” He felt a small smile against his lips, Petyrs hands pressing her closer, meeting her open mouth, her eagerness to touch him. Her hip pressing into him, Sansas leg snaking between his thighs. Feeling her back arch slightly, “Oh god, I love you too” She sighed into his open mouth, with that he pulled her face away from his, both of them their eyes locked, her hands drifting up to finger the collar of his shirt, peering at him through her eyelashes. His hand came to purchase on her cheek, his thumb stroking her porcelain skin feeling the air escaping her lips as she breathed in slowly. 

The space between them suddenly became too much to bear, both Sansa and Petyr intertwining themselves, their breathing becoming heavier, her hand moving to unbutton his shirt, pawing at the skin underneath, himself reaching underneath her top to rake his fingers against her smooth skin. Sansa felt herself pushed against one of the low stone walls, Petyrs hand gripping at her thigh, running his hand farther up the bare skin, moving towards her center, her legs slightly parting, an invitation. 

Hearing the ringing of his mobile, muffled by his discarded jacket Petyrs hand stopped. Both listening, they paused, only pulling close at the last ring. Again it rang, Sansa feeling his hand gripping at her thigh, trying not to notice his increasing grip - the frustration behind it. 

After it ended, Petyr turned back to her, kissing her neck “I’m sorry.” As she leaned her head back, a little sigh escaping, it rang again. 

His hands pulled away from her burning body, Petyrs shoulders slumping down, running his hands through his hair, resting them on top of his head, leaning back and closing his eyes, unsure of what to do, his eyes looking towards Sansa pleading for an apology. 

“Answer it.” She mouthed. Looking away he broke the silence; “Fuck!” He stomped his foot and fumbled with his jacket, finally pulling out the device staring at the screen. 

His other hand ran over his face, looking at the screen and looking at his lover feet away as she tucked her top back into her skirt. turning away, avoiding his stare. Her eyes reflecting a building frustration. 

The phone rang again, she turned to him - “Just fucking answer it Petyr! I know its your goddamned wife!” He threw the phone on the table, ignoring the continuous ringing, stepping towards her “Sansa.” She pushed him away, “Don’t fucking touch me Petyr.” She held up her hands edging away from his open arms as he edged closer, ‘I said, don’t. Touch. Me.” 

He stopped, his face falling, looking for something to say, to placate her. “I can’t do this.’ Sansa whispered, “I, I can’t do this anymore” Petyr moved his hand to his mouth, shifting to cross his arms, frustration building. Sansa felt her face grow hot, her eyes growing wet - the contrast of now and minutes earlier too much, breaking her. “You’re still with your wife… I am just the woman you are fucking.” - 

“Sansa, I love y-“

“You don’t!” She hissed, “You’re a manipulative liar - a selfish prick! Normal people don’t fucking do this to people they _love_.” She sobbed, instinctively he moved to touch her. 

Sansa pushed him away, slapping him. Petyr moved to touch his face, the skin tingling, a slight ringing in his ears. 

“I deserve that.” His voice low and quiet. 

She pushed past him to grab her clutch where it rested on the table, her hands reaching for it - Petyr quickly grabbed at her wrists and pulled her close, Sansa moving to push him away but he held her tight. Her tears were too much, Sansa breaking, falling into him. Petyrs hands reached for her temples, demanding Sansa stare him in the eyes. 

Though she could easily push him away Sansa grew still, Petyr could hear her ragged breath, Sansas eyes dark, “I need you, please don’t go” She smiled, though it grew into a smirk. Sansa closed her eyes, tears continuing to fall, “And then what Petyr? We fuck and then _you go home_ \- to your wife? I have the feeling something else is holding back from whatever it is - this, _anything_. I can’t wait for you any longer… as much as I love you… I thought I could but, I cannot.. You’ve killed something inside me, broken it. I’m leaving now. Please don’t speak to me again.” Sansas voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes now open, the blue cloudy. Looking over his shoulder, afraid to lock eyes, as if she would change her mind.

She shoved his hands away and moved to grab her clutch, Petyr not stopping her as she moved past him to walk down the stone steps. Letting her go for a moment he felt a sense of loss gnawing at his insides, the hollowness seeping in. The sound of her clicking heels dissipating, doors slamming.

Sensing the weight of her exit Petyr turned away from the steps and moved his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands and throwing down his hands, "Fuck!” and ran after her. 

Pushing open the doors of the Library Petyr watched Sansa stepping into a cab. Running towards the moving vehicle Petyr pounded his hands on the car. He felt the vehicle braking, Sansa rolled down the window, “Petyr - please, leave me alone.” 

\- “Sansa, I need to know -“  

“What?” Petyr touched his hand to her burning skin. “How long?” 

“How long what?!” 

“How long can you wait? Fuck, _I need you._ ” 

 Sansa closed her eyes with a sigh, leaning into his palm, her voice slowly growing in conviction; “Petyr… I already waited six months. I cannot wait any longer… I, I have to say goodbye.” With that Sansa asked the driver to pull away. 

The car lurched forward, taking away the love of his life. Sansa stared at him through the rear view mirror as she pulled away, himself growing smaller, again his hands resting on the top of his head, Petyr looking completely lost. Sansa closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the passenger seat, her breathing labored and shallow. 

“Petyr” She mouthed, tasting warm tears on her lips. 

* * *

 He stood in the street until he heard the honking of another taxi. Turning to give the driver the finger Petyr retreated back to the dark library, alone. His steps felt heavy, _I fucked up… I will never see her again. Ever._ Reaching the observation deck he looked at the scene in front of him, small signs of a tussle, candles sputtering out. He slumped into a chair reaching for the bottle of champagne and drinking from it directly - _it would be a shame for it to go to waste_. He looked at his phone, _seven missed calls - Lysa._

He sent her a quick text, _“Fucking busy, unsure when home_.” 

He fumbled with his jacket, pulling out a box from the pocket and setting it on the table staring at it, the content inside containing Sansas birthday gift. A vintage gold watch, the back with a small inscription; _They forgot everything the minute they were together again._ When she had said it, it had stuck with him - perfection in explaining how he felt in her presence, herself some antidote to Petyr, allowing him to feel like his true self, _aware, sharp_ , unlike the dull, cynical asshole he was away from her. 

He picked up his phone, unsure of what to do, Petyr had few friends though dialed the number of someone he knew would answer. 

* * *

 Sansa managed to spit out an address between her tears, leaning her head back against the seat, slowly breathing until her face felt dry and sticky. Composing herself, she dialed a familiar number, waiting for a response on the other line; “Happy Birthday Bitch!” Margaery answered, ending her greeting in laughter, Sansa hearing her brother laughing in the background as well.

Sansa gave a weak smile, managing to spit out - “I need to stop by _now.”_ Noting the tone, Margaery quieted herself,“Yes, get over here now, we were gonna go dancing to celebrate your birthday even if you weren’t gonna be there this year.” Sansa allowed herself a small laugh; “Thank you, be over in 5, I’m in a cab right now.” 

“Sansa - I’m glad your coming” 

“I am too, I missed you.” 

“Me too.” 

* * *

Petyr was shocked the man had answered, even more shocked with his response. He heard the steps behind him though Petyr didn’t turn when he heard the familiar dry tone; “ _Well_ , quite the reception for a drunk like me. Though I must say, if you plan on fucking me, the frivolity of _this_ seems a little unnecessary.”

Petyr turned to see Tyrion at the top of the stone steps, a bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm. He smirked at the man, turning back the table, eyeing the now empty bottle of champagne. Settling himself in the empty chair Tyrion placed his bottle on the table with a dull thunk, giving Petyr a hard stare.

“Well if she left with all of this, you fucked up on a level I have yet to achieve.” 

“I did.” Petyr sighed, running his hands over his face. 

Tyrion poured the whiskey into an empty champagne flute, handing it to Petyr. He took it and in a mock toast raised the glass before taking a long sip of the amber liquid, Tyrion himself raising the bottle and drinking directly from it. 

Tyrion looked at Petyr, watching the man attempting to drown his feelings, “Funny, you aren’t as smart as you think you are - you know that?” Petyr said nothing, continuing to drink, finishing his glass.

“You expected her _wait_ until you left your wife - who is, dare I say, _fucking dreadful._ And, instead of walking into that house and demanding a divorce the moment you got back from fucking that delicious creature, you said nothing, and still haven’t, putting on some sick ruse of a free man, playing with her, _toying with her_.” 

“I didn’t toy with her.” More silence, just Petyr reaching to refill his glass. 

“If you think that, then you are an idiot. Expecting you could have _everything_ with no consequences.” After taking another long sip, Petyrs eyes seemed glassy,

“I am an idiot.”

\- “You are - everything doesn’t come without something; and now you are just left with Lysa Arryn, a veritable _goddess_ among women.” 

“I’m actually worse off Tyrion, I love her - and now she’s gone.” 

Petyr heard the man sigh, shaking his head; “All from your own doing my friend.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading; I fell off the typing wagon for a time there...
> 
> And, my last shameless plug; follow me on Tumblr please! [b-baminal](http://b-baminal.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	9. Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some much needed advice from friends is given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little short one! This chapter was not originally planned but practically requested - and I was happy to oblige. 
> 
> Thank you as always for all the comments, notes... I love it, and you ♡.

Her eyes responded to the morning sun peering through the windows - opening, dilating and quickly shutting. Groaning, she shifted her body, her hands reaching out to grip the arm of a charcoal-colored sofa. Finally allowing her eyes to open Sansa scanned the familiar space; the living room of Margaery and Loras Tyrell. The mirrored coffee table cluttered with multiple wine glasses; varying amounts of liquid held in each. Empty bottles of wine, the overturned contents of her handbag, an empty pizza box. Urging herself to stand, a hand again taking purchase on the sofa to steady herself, Sansa walked through an open doorway only to look in at her friend a top the covers, dress still on, her hair mussed, makeup smudged, and asleep. Heels absentmindedly kicked aside, resting on a lux rug. Nudging the brunette with a less than gentle push, Sansa slipped under the covers, moving aside one of Margaery’s limbs that hand decided on drape itself over her middle. 

“Morning.” Brown eyes opening with a smile, soaking in the blue ones gazing back at her.

“Morning.” Sansa yawned, throwing the blanket over Margaery’s frame. With a giggle they edged themsleves closer, the brunette snaking her arm over Sansas shoulder, the other girl resting her head in the crook of her neck. The two lying there in silence. 

“So, another birthday gone-bye.” She noted with a sigh, “… I must say, the outcome better than last years; spending the night in my tub last year.” Both giving a small laugh at the memory. 

Margaery turned her head. “But, how are you? Really?” Sansa looked into her eyes and turned away. “Margaery, last night was fun, the talking, _the dancing,_ the drinking. But - _I feel numb_.” She continued, “And when that seems to… to disappear. My insides tremble, _vibrate_ , as if they will fall apart. I hurt - my heart… hurts.” The last words coming out in a near whisper, her voice gently cracking, _subtle breaks_. 

“Listen, _my sweet girl._ ” Margaery placed her hand under Sansas chin, their faces drawing closer, “You will hurt; for quite some time - _I imagine_. But, know I’m here for you. I hate seeing you like this.” The redhead sighed, “…Thank you Margaery.” They stared at each other, Margaery moving to kiss her forehead at the sight of a tear slowly drifting down Sansas pale cheek. 

“Oh Sansa.” She sighed, “I’m - I’m sorry; and on your birthday too. What a fucking prick.” Sansa allowed a small laugh to seep through her lips. “I know lady… You told me. _Many times_ last night.” 

“I mean - I know he wasn’t planning on the night _ending_ _that way_ but, turn off your fucking phone for gods sake!” She looked towards Sansa, herself turning away with their meeting eyes. Margaery sighed, “I know you love him…”

Sansa only allowed herself a small nod. She wanted to deny herself any sense of feeling, and thus far she was failing. 

“I know it won’t make it hurt any less but he is a fucking asshole for doing what he did to you. You don’t deserve it Sansa. Of all people, you deserve some happiness.” Margaery pursed her lips and looked past Sansas shoulder, herself now trying not too become emotional, _one of them would have to be strong for the other._ Sansa was practically family, a sister. When one was weak, the other had to be strong. And even with the death of her parents 6 years ago, Sansa had remained strong through all of it, she had become steel. _Maybe now it had all become too much._

All she could do was nod in response. “You know… as _wonderful_ as it was.” She swallowed, “It probably wouldn’t have survived.”

“I dunno Sansa, there was something… I saw it. That night you guys met, I mean. There was _something_. He just didn’t know what to do with it… idiot.” With that, Margaery threw the covers aside and walked out of the room, returning with two glasses of water, finding Sansa staring off, her face listless, wishing to grab at something. 

She pushed the glass into Sansas face, purposefully breaking her gaze, her blue eyes rapidly blinking, refocusing; “Thanks.” 

“Really Margaery, what would have happened? He _finally_ leaves his wife, we live together, get married and I have his babies - the end? I think not… clearly.”  

“Well of course, not now. But, it would have been an _amazing_ story to tell your grandchildren, especially when you went into _excruciating, painstaking_ detail about the sex.” The brunette snorted into her glass, laughing at her own jest. 

“Margaery…” 

“I’m just trying to find a silver lining within this horrid turn of events. You can now cross off fucking a married man from your bucket list and move on.” The redhead shook her head, whispering quietly; “It’s the _feeling_ that will be hard to shake off…” 

Sansa felt hollow. That pit in her stomach, the emptiness and isolation Sansa had carried with her since the death of her parents had been, really even before that, _sated_. She had felt peace, a connection - the thread, tugging at her insides, ended with him. Her body had quieted, relaxed, a hunger she didn’t know she possessed - _fed._  All of those feelings had crept back inside overnight,Sansa worried they would never leave her. 

_How different the night had turned out._ Sansa turned away from her thoughts, back to her companion. ‘I will just be a wreck, I think. For some time…” She threw her arms around her friend. 

“Don’t let me fall in too deep.” Though Sansa’s words were muffled in Margaerys shoulder, she could hear her clearly. 

She had always been there, ever since the redhead had shown up at her house, introduced by their fathers; to play one weekend, ten years ago. The two girls had been the best of friends ever since. After all they had been through, she wouldn’t allow Petyr to drag Sansa down. “I won’t, you stubborn woman, I won’t - breakfast?” 

* * *

The night had passed by slowly, the minutes dragging on as if hours, a strange comfort knowing it was now over. He felt like hell, it was hell - close to it. He opened his eyes to stare into the familiar space of Lysa’s living room, a top the brown leather sofa, a throw tangled around him and his wrinkled suit. He strained his ears, listening for _her_ shrieking, the sound of Robin - but was met with nothing. He closed his eyes, absorbing, savoring the silence so rarely heard in the damn house. Though his memories of the night before crept in, _quickly_ , along with the splitting headache. _Fuck._ Last night had begun so well, and had ended so, _poorly._ He shut her out of his mind, hoping like hell it wasn’t his reality from now on, some awful nightmare instead.

His phone sat on the coffee table, picking it up he ran through the last few messages he had sent, any phone calls. Several calls and curt messages to Lysa were the only things he saw from the previous night - and a call to Tyrion of course. Beginning their evening where it had unraveled for Petyr they ended it at a bar by the office, a familiar place. Tyrion setting the pace and Petyr eager to follow, wanting to remove it all from his mind. Her kiss still lingered. He could catch the scent of her perfume on his collar, he could feel her warm skin against his palms and he could feel her slap. Taste the salt from her tears. He had played at being impassive, indifferent, it was  _self-preservation_ , though as he continued to imbibe, his tongue and thoughts grew looser. 

They sat at the bar in silence, his finger running along the rim of his now empty glass, his shoulders heavy, thoughts muddled and distinctly dark. The one women he had loved, desired, _he_ had been the cause of her tears. It tore at him, something Petyr Baelish was distinctively unfamiliar with, and understandably, was handling it very poorly. The man now long done with any clever witticisms, the smirk wiped from his face, now choosing to be sullen and silent and Tyrion, understanding. He had chastised the bastard enough. The man knew he had been foolish, and now he was miserable yet again, picking right up where it had ended the night he met Sansa.

“One more?” Petyr nodded, both allowed the bartender one last pour into their glasses, a sloppy toast.

After a long drink he sighed. “Fuck.” Running his hand through his hair, moving to further loosen his tie.

Tyrion stared at Petyr as he went through the familiar motions, wondering what he would be like in the morning, days, weeks, even a month from now. He was curious if the man said he loved the woman as much as he claimed to. Thus far, he had not seen Baelish so broken, even empathetic. His usual cool, collected demeanor broken - more akin to a love-sick school boy, though Tyrion did ponder on the effect of a broken ego and liquor contributing to his present state.

“I will call her tomorrow, I have to. I have to _explain something, anything really..._ Do something.” 

“Divorcing your wife? Seemed, _seems_ like the best option all-around.” Tyrion stared, Petyr nodded slowly. “A most _unpleasant_ conversation…”

“Why didn’t you earlier? Why not just fucking do it, and be with a women you so clearly want, and _care_ for?” The question had been sitting on the edge of his tongue all night, Tyrion finally letting it slip.

Petyr took a deep breath and another long drink, finally deciding to answer; his glass clicking against the wooden counter. “It makes it all real, something strange, that I can’t control; _another person._ Lysa doesn't count - believe me. I've been by 'myself' far too long. Too particular, too controlling. I may be miserable, but by my own design. Thus my joyless, loveless marriage; _an easily controlled situation and person._  Predictable. The thought of someone else potentially swaying my emotions in a way she could have... fuck.” 

Tyrion raised an eyebrow and slowly shook his head. Petyr choose not to take the bait, knowing the man was silently calling him a coward, _an asshole_. It was his truth; albeit one he had tried to persuade himself of otherwise. Love, desire, trust, equality and respect found in another. These things, feelings, were messy - out of his control, a life with her would be all of these things, leaving him strangely unprepared for once. These had been the feelings he had struggled with since he had seen Sansa. Petyr had chosen that night, had decided to live as selfishly as he had done before; mentally in control, isolated emotionally. 

Now on that couch in the empty living room he reflected on those  _feelings_ ,  _emotions._ Control was within his grasp, again. But, she would not be there, both body and mind. Already he longed to find himself in her bed, pulling her close, running his fingers lightly against her bare back - grazing that burning alabaster skin. To feel her soft, warm breath against his neck. Her kiss - featherlight at first, growing harder, deeper, Sansas breathing increasing all the while; watching a blush bloom across her cheeks with her growing arousal. How a leg would slip between his own, pressing her hips to him, at first lightly, until her own machinations were matched by his. How Petyr would press Sansa into her white sheets, tangling his fingers in her red hair, kissing and nipping at her bare flesh, her soft lips. Finally running his palm, then fingers along her wet slit, watching her back softly arch, breasts pressing into his chest as Sansa ached at his touch, fingers pumping inside her, allowing her hunger to build. Her lips opening, letting her gasps of pleasure spill out as they both sought friction, to sate their desire of the other. How he would enter her and how they expertly moved against each other. With a possessive air each demanding the other to come as they grew closer to completion. And when they did, how they would continue to lay entangled in each other, kissing, talking in soft whispers, desirous to know each other secrets. Both of them so blatantly honest, _aware_ , after coitus.

Already he longed for that closeness, emotional intimacy; now replaced with the familiar hollowness he felt when apart. A strange feeling overtaking Petyr in the knowledge that, from his decision, _his inaction_ , that hollowness, the thrumming of his insides from the loneliness - would now always be there because she was not. 

 


	10. Another Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time has passed between the two of them... 
> 
>  
> 
> _“How I feel is that if I wanted anything I'd take it. That's what I've always thought all my life. But it happens that I want you, and so I just haven't room for any other desires.”_
> 
> \- F. Scott Fitzgerald

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, I just couldn't split this chapter out for the life of me - so lucky you ;)
> 
> On another note (a sad one...), I do have to start pondering an ending for this fic. It was never meant to be a long one; so be on the lookout for that. Do know it will be a happy ending though. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love and Happy New Year to everyone! ✴ ✴ ✴

_Four months later..._

* * *

He checked the time, _again_ ; awaiting an opportune time to slip away. Trying to push the incessant, repetitive noise - the people, out of his mind. In the corner of his eye, though the space was dark, he could see his two other companions, equally as miserable, wishing the time would slip by; that they could finally retire to their own beds. The younger associates in their element - drinking, flirting, dancing; unaware of the others,  _discomfort_. They had gone out _dancing_ after Petyr, Tyrion and Varys had takenthem to dinner, after the painfully long quarterly meeting. Petyr tasked with having to entertain these assholes from the San Francisco office, thinking himself blissfully in the clear as the check came before one of the _younger_ partners had suggested the night continue, possibly find some company for the evening. _And where does one, pray tell, meet said 'company'_? At the club, where the music was god-awful, the liquor expensive and the women either pea-cocking or just wishing to spend their evening unmolested. The older men unfortunately, dragged along - as chaperones, babysitters and to pick up the tab while the younger gentleman flirted and chatted with willing companions. In some semblance of comfort, they had purchased a VIP table, away from the crowds and a place to sit.

Petyr sat scowling, counting down the minutes when he could slip away, when the proper distractions had been obtained and he would then only have to see them off to the airport in the morning. He had been pleasant enough at dinner; clever, genial, his usual smirking self, though his patience now wearing thin. Petyr had little of it now, the facade he had crafted for himself over the years had been chipped away due to his recent loss.

He thought of her constantly - aching for her voice, her soft whispers in his ear when they lay in bed together, her carefully crafted smile, the sensation of her bare skin against his, Petyr often groaning aloud at these memories. The only thing seeming to numb the painful thrum from her absence being alcohol. And tonight, he gladly imbibed, as he was more apt to these days. In earlier trying times, work had given Petyr some sense of distraction; but now he was finding it harder to concentrate, his focus and dive slipping away after Sansas departure and Lysas continued,  _presence_. Only a couple people seemed to notice, the two of them sitting to his right. Themselves feeling some strange sense of duty to observe and watch him. The only two people to pick up on the slip-ups Petyr allowed himself, while the outside could only gather he was just more of an embittered asshole, a little more quick to snap, more liberal with his pours of wine at dinner functions - nothing more. The nuances of his dry, smirking behavior pushed aside.

He eyed a few of the younger men, his own associate dancing with a handsome fellow, the others trying to woo and flirt their way into a strangers bed. He smirked and turned to Tyrion, “ _This is fucking miserable -_ I’m leaving." As he went to stand, Petyr felt a strong grip on his arm, abruptly being tugged back down.

“Do not leave me with these monsters, stay a while. Drink some more - it helps.” Tyrion raised his glass and emptied it, standing to move through the crowd to grab another.

He stared, his eyes following the short man as he walked down the few steps to the dance floor to thread through the masses to the other side, where salvation in a glass awaited him. He watched for a moment, turning away, taking another long draw from his own glass. Setting it down, turning back to observe the crowd, picking out the younger associates and their flirting. The lights flickering with the beat of the music, intermittent flashes of color, people dancing as the white lights would shine. Petyrs eyes unknowingly focusing on a flash of copper, pale skin. His breathing grew heavy, words catching in his throat. _Her_. He watched her, his body growing still, the incessant thrumming deep within him growing still, a wash of calm, desire, _need_ running over him. Her body movements fluid, her head tilted back, hands grazing her bare thighs, eyes closed. He spotted familiar bodies surrounding her, Margaery, their friends; though observing the eyes of nearby males watching her. The movement of her hips, her body in a tight dress, the gentle curve of her smile on her painted lips. He didn’t know how long he stood still, his smile growing, seeing the shake of her head as she graciously declined several offers of drinks and dances from strangers. Petyrs eyes catching the expression drifting across her face as she settled back in with her friends, her smile. The melancholy playing on the edges of her eyes, a heaviness she was quick to shake off, aware her sadness might be discerned - a crack in her perfect facade. Without thinking he stood up and walked into the crowd. Petyr entirely engrossed by her presence - that red dress, hair deliciously tousled, framing her face; her graceful limbs. Finally he reached out, his fingers making contact, gripping at her soft skin. The connection gave him pause, closing his eyes for a split second, taking in the feeling of her, the satiation washing over him. She turned around those blue eyes staring back, and though she would never admit it; the expression on her face much like the first time he saw her, if only for a second... expectant, wanting. 

Instinctively placing both hands on her arms he gripped tight; knowing she may try and push him away, the liquor emboldening him. Both stood completely still, a surreal contrast to the movement of bodies, of flashing lights all around them. Their eyes drifting over each others familiar features, himself witnessing her eyes close, as if in prayer. Her eyes slowly opening, gazing at him through her long lashes, the sensation of her body tensing under his grip and softening. Itself unsure of how to react; Sansas own body demanding his touch, her mind giving pause. They continued to stare, as if they had forgotten what the other looked like when in reality, he knew she had committed every inch of him to memory, just as he had done with her. Finally, her lips parting slightly;

“Please. Don’t.” Petyr refused to move, to lessen his grip. “Petyr, _please_.” Her voice muffled from the loud music.

Breaking their stare Sansa quickly stepped back, pushing him away, turning and threading herself through the crowd. Without a thought, he followed, moving past far happier individuals. Petyr saw her walking down a long hallway, pushing past girls waiting in line for the washroom, stepping in as another stepped out. He ran, slipping through the door. Hearing the now muffled cries and pounding on the other side as he locked it. Turned away from the door, leaning into the counter, gripping at the stone, Sansas eyes met his through the mirror. Watching her body stiffen, he soaked in the heavy sigh running through her, her voice low and raspy. “Leave now, before I start screaming.” 

“Sansa, please.” Stepping towards her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, his mouth touching her soft skin, grazing her ear lobe. Both bodies molding to the other, reacting to muscle memory. Their eyes met, watching each other in the glass.

Clearing her throat, “Go.” Sansas voice barely a whisper, closing her eyes to his stare.

Refusing to listen he kissed at her burning skin, pushing the red tresses aside, running his lips over her neck. She moved to edge away from him but he pinned her against the wall. Placing a chaste kiss on her lips, he pulled away, gauging her dark stare, the heaving of her chest, her softening posture.

“You fucking asshole, _why are you doing this to me_?” Her words ending in a sob, the sensation of her leaning in, falling into him. 

Placing both palms to her burning cheeks he kissed her deeply, their bodies pressing against the other, seeking that familiar touch, the friction they chased. Petyrs hands running up her soft thighs, carrying the fabric of her dress with them. Her hips moving against his, Sansas hands tugging at his tie, fingers running through his hair, scratching at the base of his neck; Petyr groaning at the sensation. Forcibly tugging at the straps of her dress, exposing skin, her sheer lacy bra. Ripping at the fabric, her breasts now bare, his hands grazing the swell of her chest, tongue laving against the pale smooth skin, the hardened peaks.

“Petyr.” He heard a small gasp and pulled away slightly, their noses touching. Feeling her warmth breath, noting the blush across her face, her eyes and their sadness, confused desire.

“Why?” He groaned and buried his face in her neck, their hands slowly wandering up and down the others frame, relishing in the contact, the possessive intimacy.

As if coming to, Sansa pushed him away slightly. Petyr ran his hands through his hair, stumbling over his words, trying to regain composure, stepping closer once again. “Fuck Sansa.” His hands dropping to his sides. “I miss you. God, I love you.”

Without hesitation, Sansa grabbed at his left hand, feeling the familiar wedding band around his finger, giving him a hard stare and moving towards the door. Placing his hand on the door to stop her and Petyrs other arm wrapping around her waist, tugging her body towards his, Sansas form so warm and inviting. Her mouth quickly found his, his hand pressing her in deeper, wishing to remove any particles of space that remained between them. Her now naked thigh pressing between his legs, feeling her breasts pushing into his chest. Sansas hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt, loosening his tie. The first two buttons of Petyrs shirt coming undone, her lips finding his neck. Her hands drifting, undoing his belt.

Petyr reached down to assist her and once undone, pressing Sansa against the wall. Lifting her thigh, running his hands closer to her warm center, feeling the soft skin he had dreamed of those past four months. Finding her intimates and moving his fingers across the lace he could feel her heat, the wetness. Groaning, he buried his face in her chest, breathing in her scent. Pulling away he looked into her eyes.

They were dark; full of desire, panic, hatred, love. “God, I need you.” He whispered. 

Shaking her head, her eyes now growing wet. “I hate you… _you’re so selfish_.” He moved to release her but she pulled him back in, her own body betraying her.

“Why do you make me feel this way.” His hands moved to cup her face, Petyrs eyes wandering over her, searching for the words.

Sansa continued, her voice low and soft, “I love you, _but I don’t want too_. At all… you… you hurt me Petyr. After all these months, I don’t feel any better.” Tears now fell, catching on his skin, “I hurt. _I feel like a piece of me died.”_

He kissed her and pressed her close, allowing her to collapse into his embrace. Their hands still wandering, his finding purchase on her now bare waist, hers wrapped around his neck. Sansa continued to kiss him, he could taste her tears, soaking up her warmth, tasting small remnants of liquor on her full lips.

He spoke through their kisses; “Sansa … please… let me get you… out of… get you home. I miss you… sorry; please. Please.” Finally acquiescing, all she could do was nod in return her; eyes clouded with tears. He gently pulled the straps of her dress back on, kissing her shoulder with the last strap back in place, whispering into her skin, “Thank you. Truly.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She returned, standing as he slid the fabric of her skirt down, smoothing out the wrinkles and handing Sansa her clutch from off the floor.

Stepping closer, Petyr felt her hand at his belt, on the buttons of his shirt, returning the small gesture of dressing the other, his hands resting on her shoulders as he watched her gently readjust his tie, straighten his jacket. A small kiss placed on his tie as he felt her hands fastening his belt in place. He sighed at the contact, catching a tiny smile that played on her lips. Their eyes locked, a strange sense of calm washing over the two, both now ready to step outside. With a tiny nod he pushed the door open, greeted by the yells of frustrated and angry patrons. He clung tightly to her waist, walking behind her. Stepping through the back exit into the alleyway, Sansa and Petyr were met by the cool, fall air.

She fell into him again, taking in his familiar smell, his touch. The thrumming she felt in the pit of her stomach now stilled. _She felt whole again_. Petyr savored the moment, closing his eyes, the women he loved now in his embrace. He felt sated, wanting to take Sansa home; cover every inch of her body in kisses, hold her, whisper in her ear all night every thought he had had about her during her absence. Despite the alcohol, his mind felt clear and lucid.

Sansa leaned in close; her lips almost touching his, their breathing quiet and heavy. He could see her eye make-up mussed, the lost look in her eyes. “Let me take you home. Please.” He repeated the words, finding some calm in them.

She nodded, again moving to rest her head in the crook of his neck. Petyr pulled off his jacket, placing it on her shoulders, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist as they made it to the sidewalk - his free hand hailing a cab. Inside she remained silent as Petyr gave her address, saying nothing when he recited it perfectly, though they hadn’t directly spoken in nearly four months. Her head rested on his shoulder, his hands running up and down her arm, her side - slight sighs escaping them both. 

* * *

Stepping into the darkness of her living room, he heard the soft thunk of his jacket falling listlessly to the floor, the creaking of her bedroom door. Shutting the front door, he ran his hands along the bare wall, finding a switch and flicking it on. The light illuminated her lovely figure a top the blankets, her arms cradling a pillow, eyes closed, face wet. The dress riding up her pale thighs, hugging at her small waist. He could see the curve of her full breasts and swallowed. Petyr stood at the foot of her bed, sticking his hands in his pockets, Petyrs eyes searching the room, refusing to meet her blue eyes in fear he would crumple himself against her, kissing and running his hands over her smooth skin. He only looked down when he heard the smallest hint of movement, Sansa raising herself on the bed with one arm, the other hand slipping off her heels with a slight thud. Looking up from her small task Sansas big blue eyes met his stare, her long lashes slowly fluttering. He noted her shifting on the blankets, the curve of her hips and waist, her own hand crawling up her thigh slowly taking the fabric with it. _God she was fucking beautiful, how he wanted her, and she knew._ Lifting her free hand, she ran it through her rich red strands, shaking them loose.

Their eyes locked. “Thank you Petyr.” His name on her lips in a breathy whisper, he bit his lip to silence himself, a groan trying to escape. _N_ _ow was not the time_.

“Of course.” He kept it brief, polite. The bravery from the club escaping him, unwilling to give rise to anything that may happen. They allowed the silence to continue.

“I need... I want to sleep with...” Without allowing herself to finish, with the soft shake of her head Sansa softly lowered herself onto the blankets. Her hand lifting itself to turn the overhead light off, coating them in darkness till she flicked on a lamp, the low warm glow falling over her form, her bedroom eyes. 

“Fuck Sansa.” He groaned, running his fingers along his scalp, turning to walk away from her inviting body but stopping himself and sighing. Resting his hand on the doorframe he paused and turned around, facing her. “Petyr?” She noted in a breathy whisper.

In two steps, he was on the bed; hands on either side of her frame, looking down at the loveliness below him. He stared at her, though she looked away - in frustration he placed a hand under her chin moving it so they held each others stare, she shoved his hand away.

“Please don’t touch me.” Her words held a bite though her eyes were dark and hazy, the dichotomy causing frustration to build.

“Thank you for what you did, _after the fact_ , but you need to leave.” He huffed in frustration, leaning in closer, “Then don’t fucking tease me.” He growled. “Tease you?” She tilted her head back and gave small sardonic laugh, her gaze meeting his again.

“It’s what little power I have over you, please don’t take it away from me.” Her voice lowered, her hands rising to tug at his collar, as she had been apt to do so many times before.

The small gesture stole a breath away from him. “Sansa…” The edge stealing away from his voice. 

“You have so much more than that-“ “Don’t lie Petyr, If it was more than that, you would have left Lysa long ago. _You could be home right now, with me.”_ He groaned into her neck.

He felt his cheek grow wet from her falling tears. “… It's so pitiful.” He stayed silent, and felt her chest begin to heave a little, Sansas tears increasing in frequency, her body softly trembling.

He sunk into her, wrapping his arms around her, Sansa giving into her sadness. His shirt growing wet from her sobs. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could muster. “I think of you always.”

She stopped at his words, pulling herself away from him slightly. “You think of me?” Though there were tears in her eyes she gave a sarcastic laugh. “And that is where it ends. _You thinking of me_ -“ She slid out from under him, pushing him away, settling herself on the edge of the bed.

She shook her head. “Nothing else, just thoughts. I needed you to show me Petyr, without that, it was all meaningless.” He continued to lay face down into her blankets, glad it hid his increasing anger and frustration.

Finally moving, he sat up and stood on his feet, pacing the room, stopping in front of her. Sansa refusing to look him in the eye, purposefully turning away. “It _was_? Fuck Sansa! I loved you, I still love you!” She stood, now inches away from him, “You are a manipulative liar.” She hissed, “If you loved me as much as your emails, voicemails, and flowers say you do, we wouldn’t be standing in _my apartment_ while I yell at the man I love with a wedding ring on; and we’re not even the ones that are married!” She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed him, he gripped at her shoulders, the sudden movement tensing up every muscle in her body. She squirmed, “Let me the fuck go Petyr!” He released her arms, holding up his hands as if in surrender. Sansa stepped back, the back of her legs finding her bed, at the touch of fabric she turned to find the obstacle behind her.

He sighed, throwing his arms down; “Is that what you wanted? For me to leave Lysa, for us to be together, for me to marry you?” She stared at him and sat down, crossing her arms. “After a time, something like that - yes. And, I thought thats what you wanted, you said as much, _many, many times._ ” Sansas voice cracking with frustration.

“Petyr, these past few months I have felt… hollow. I felt this way before my family, _years before_. It is something I have carried, as if, physically a piece of me was - _missing._ ” Sansa looked up and met his eyes, they were dark, open. “And, I don’t feel that, didn't feel that… with you. It's something so base, so possessive _._ I cannot explain it but _\- I want to possess you_. You on me, with me, inside me, those emotions - settle.” Her voice had lowered to a whisper, though he had heard every word, himself still. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes, unwilling to match his stare. " _I am calm. S_ omething inside me grows _still_."

He stared, unblinking, reflexively running his hands though his hair. Petyr knew that feeling, he had been intimately acquainted with it for years, it was familiar, a strange comfort. Though tired of the thrumming, the alcohol he used to dampen these sensations. He needed _her,_  the satiation she brought him.He moved towards the bed and gently placing a hand on her bare shoulder, he lowered Sansa down. Her breathing slow and deep, their eyes locked. She did not protest.

“I know the feeling well.” His voice was low, unguarded. He kissed her lightly on the lips, she did not flinch. 

Pulling away, he tugged at the ring on his finger and tossed it on the floor behind him, hearing its weak clink as it hit the floor. Their eyes both seemed to darken and grow heavy, as if under some spell. Slowly, she moved her arms to wrap around his shoulders, gently tugging. He moved in closer, feeling her warm chest through the cloth of his shirt. With her arms fully snaked around him she pressed her half-open mouth to his, closing her eyes, pressing harder, deeper, his mouth responding to her touch reciprocating, Petyr gave a small groan. Sansa responding with another press, this time with her hips, her chest, Petyr slowly lowering his body onto hers. She moaned with the pressing, which he deepened.

“ _I need you_.” He whispered against her skin, tugging at his hair she looked him in the eyes. “ _Then don’t leave me_.” He nodded, “I won’t, not again.” Letting go, he felt her body relax, his hands running up her thighs, her abdomen, breasts, running his hands up her arms, gently pinning them above her head. His fingers, intertwining and gripping at her own, a light squeeze in response.

His hands finally left hers, resting them at her waist and after laying himself fully on her bed, Sansa was pulled a top of him, thighs pressed against his hips, his hands sweeping along the pale skin. Feeling her palms take rest upon his hands he stopped the circular movements, looking up into her eyes, soaking up her stare. Petyrs hands wandered to the small of her back, running them along her spine, resting them at the top only to push her forward, both their faces spaces apart, He could have kissed her.

They remained staring into the other, Petyr taking in her slow deep breaths, the moisture that clung to her full lips, how slowly her eyes opened and closed, the long lashes sweeping against his cheek. He twitched at the movement of her hands, slowly moving them to his face, palms against his temple, slender fingers running through his graying hair. Her thumb rubbing against his skin. Inching forward, she placed her lips on his softly, mouth slightly open. She didn’t press deeper, though she didn’t pull back. 

“How can you hurt me the way you do? If you _need_ me so.” Her words were soft, quiet, the movement of her lips against his causing him to lightly shudder.

Her forehead rested against his. Petyr swallowed, finally staring her in the eye. Unsure of his response; finally, “It does, thats why I’m here, now, with you. I miss you Sansa.” She was silent, “I want to believe you… god, I do. All you’ve done is lie, until it becomes your truth.” She raised herself up, still resting on his hips, her thighs still pressed against him, the skirt of her dress hitched up.

Petyr could see the peek of her lacy intimates, the soft skin of her upper thigh… the outline of her… his mind attempting to detach from the sight before him. The desire to press Sansa against the bed and fuck her until she cried and the desire to explain, to console, comfort her. To pull her close, his body craved to have her against him, lull her back into the feelings of love, possession they had felt for each other. To forget the last few months had taken place, to forget what he hadn’t done. He knew after this night, whether she chose him or not, Petyr would always be tied to her. Chemically drawn to her in ways no other women could ever compare. _H_ _ow could he tell her these things_? He sat up again, wrapping his arms around her; Sansas hands pressed against his back, back slightly arching her eyes unblinking. 

He leaned into her neck, breathing into her ear, “I’m sorry.” He felt her breath stop, “My words escape me. I need you... I, cannot explain it any more simply. I need you, to temper those _sensations._ You and I, we are cut from the same cloth; I feel _hollow_ when we’re apart. I have to have you.” She leaned in closer, herself resting her head against his chest, a slight tremble. “I love you.” He felt her shift in his arms, a raspy sigh, her voice foggy from her emotions.

“Thats why I don’t understand how you could hurt me so. I could never hurt myself.” He looked to see a tiny smile at the ends of her lips and leaned forward to kiss her, she met him; mouth slightly open, eyes closed.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” He pulled away and said quickly. “I never want you to hurt, and, anyone who does - I will fuck them.” She kissed him again, this time her lips pressing harder.

Moving his hands from her back he pressed them to her temples, kissing her deeper, their tongues snaking against the other. Petyr felt Sansa push him down, pressing him against the blankets. Looking up to see her hair mussed, framing her face in a crown of copper. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful.” She bit her bottom lip, as he continued to stare.

Her fingers moved to wrap around his, pinning him to the sheets. “Petyr, If you fuck me like that again, I will ruin you. I swear it, trust that you are not the only deviant in this room. Just because I am pretty doesn’t mean I can’t be ugly.” They stared for another moment, Petyr allowed himself a small nod.

Her eyes soaked in the small consent, with that she let go and with a small gasp, he had her pinned to the bed now. Himself at her side, resting on an elbow, Petyrs other hand gripping her waist tightly. 

“Now” He kissed at her neck, her lips; “I need to hear you -” “What?” He kissed her lips deeply, pressing himself into her eager flesh.

“I need to hear you.” “Petyr” She moaned, his lips drifting along her jaw. Sansa could feel his hand crawling up her thigh, resting and toying with the lace of her panties.

She felt his smile against her skin, already the mood of the room so dramatically changed - lighter, freer. “Not that my love.” His voice held the hint of a groan, Petyrs hand now tugging at the delicate straps of her bra and dress, wishing to expose the skin underneath, feel her breasts against his palm and chest.

“I need to hear you say it. Tell me you love me.” She moved towards him, her body now parallel to his. “Well, I don’t know if I can love a _married man_.”

He lowered his voice, trying to push any hint of desire from it; convincing her of his truth the biggest concern. “I told you. I am yours, I don’t want to be apart from you any longer.” - “But what does that mean to me?” He pushed a few strands of her hair away from her face, refusing to break his stare.

“It means I’ll leave my wife for you. I just need to know.” Sansa’s face hovered an inch away from his, her breath stilled.

She licked at her lips lightly. He could see her mind at work, turning over every possibility in her mind, hoping she knew he was being truthful. Sansa something too perfect and his to let go again. She leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder, settling her body against his, resting her hand against his chest, tucking her other arm under her head, her right leg snaking between his own.

“Petyr” She said his name softly, _like a prayer_.

“That is perfect.” “And?” He quirked an eyebrow, his lips resting against her forehead.

Silently she moved to kiss his lips, slow and languid at first, quickly growing fervid; the small gasps she gave conveying so much. Petyr gave in easily, the kisses as if she wished to consume him, himself eager to match her rhythm and intensity. Shifting his body, feeling her burning skin through the fabric of his shirt. Feeling her thigh slip out from underneath him, and press against his side. His hand moved to drift over the skin, gripping at her flesh adjusting her leg to press himself closer to her center. Feel his hardness. Sansa smiled against his lips. Her breaths growing ragged, warmer. His own breathing layered with his groans, his further heightening arousal.

Sansa slid her other hand to his chest, slowly pulling open the buttons of his shirt, seeking the skin underneath, moving to tug at the hem. He quickly sat up, pulling his shirt off his shoulders, feeling her hands at his belt, unbuckling it, unzipping his trousers. Kissing his bare chest as she pushed down the fabric. Reaching down he pulled the dress from Sansas figure. Laying down on the bed he raised his hips, removing his trousers, carelessly tossing them aside, moving to hastily tug off Sansas bra, his fingers hooking underneath the lace of her panties. Pulling them down, kissing her legs as he removed them, moving up to kiss her mound, her stomach, her breasts, nipping at her pink nipples. Lifting his face to hers, she snaked her tongue into his mouth, Petyr positioning himself above her, continuing their kissing, their benedictions against each other; hands on either side of her shoulders, pressing himself into her now bare skin. 

Lowering himself down, running his fingers through her hair with one hand, while the other lazily drug itself down her middle, pressing softly against her sex. Petyr felt her shudder, her hip pressing itself into his hand, chasing the contact.

“Don’t think I haven’t forgotten.” She pulled back to look into his eyes, letting her head sink into the blankets below them.

Wetting her lips she parted them slightly, “Of course I love you… please don’t make me regret it.” “Thats a little better” He whispered into her open mouth, she sighed. 

Rolling her body against his, feeling Petyrs arousal, a soft mew slipping out. She tilted her head up and pulled away, her eyes darkening, pressing herself into the soft blankets. The pillows cradling her head, red hair pooling around pale skin, he could see her chest slowly rising, her nipples hard. _She was desire_. Lifting up her hands Sansa ran them through his hair, fingernails touching skin, resting her arms a top his shoulders, he could feel her skin against his - a small shock at the contact.

He kissed her in the softness between her breasts, “I love you… It’s all for you, no one else.” He groaned, her words seeming to hold some power over him. _Enough._  

His hand resumed its moving against her center, pressing harder, feeling her wetness, wishing to coat his fingers in her arousal. Running his fingers along her slit, he kissed her soft stomach, her fingers still running across his scalp, her hips rolling with every new press. Petyr could hear her increasing heartbeat, her quickened breath. Finished with his toying, slipping two fingers inside her. The heat, her muscles contracting slightly with his entrance pushing his own arousal. Resting on one his elbows, he pumped his fingers inside her. With a deep press she gave a loud moan and a shudder, though no where near completion. Petyr pressing himself against her thigh, anything to relieve himself of the growing tension building inside him as he watched her come undone. After another wave of arousal, Sansa tugged at the hand inside her, pulling it towards her mouth, forcing him closer to her face. After a deep kiss, slipping the fingers in her mouth, running her tongue against him, tasting her arousal, her musk. He watched in rapt fascination.

Placing his hands to her waist she looked him in the eye, a smile creeping across her reddened lips. “Petyr, I need you to fuck me. _I need you inside me._ ” The grip on her waist deepened, a gasp falling out of Sansas mouth.

Her thighs already parted, he finally slid inside, feeling her again after so long. “Fuck." He groaned against her neck, biting at her skin to quiet himself.

Sansa body already meeting his machinations, fluidly moving against his. Muscle memory. It was slow, desirous, the sounds of her wetness, his sliding in and out of her sex giving some sense of obscenity to their actions, though their was nothing but adoration. Their breathing, whispers of possession the only other things to be heard. Petyr began to feel her muscles tighten, her warmth peaking, breathing becoming more ragged - both bodies growing slick with perspiration.

Intertwining his fingers in hers Petyr pressed her hands to the bed, only allowing her hips to move, a groan of frustration escaping from Sansas lips though silenced with his own; “You know you fucking love it.” “Oh god yes, oh… harder. God, Petyr…” Letting go of her hands he gripped at her hips tightly, thrusting harder as her whole body shuddered and contracted, back arching, head tilting back, face flushed and damp.

She collapsed into the bed, her body still moving with the waves of arousal, seeking contact, though she had already reached her peak. With the tightening and releasing against his member he could no longer continue and felt himself spill inside her, though he continued to move against her until he was throughly spent. Sliding out of her he collapsed on the bed beside her, breathing in deeply, closing his eyes. He felt her head against his damp chest, her fingers seeking his own, her own leg draping across his. Feeling the liquid drying to her thighs and smiling, uncaring. His arm wrapping around her pulling her in tightly.

Tilting her head up to look into his eyes, Petyr gave her a deep stare. “You possess me.” She kissed his fingers, listening to his breathing as it grew steady and slow again. 

They lay in silence, her fingers gently drifting across his chest, ghosting against the pale skin of his scar. A kiss placed on his naked skin in random intervals of time. Himself gripping her waist, his thumb running against her flesh, his other hand entangled in her red hair. With a sigh she further pressed herself into his frame. Petyr relishing at her desire to remove any space between them. His eyes felt heavy, his body sated. His eyes drifted down to meet hers, a smile at the ends of her lips met him.

“I think I'm going to bed. Won’t you stay?” Her voice held a little edge, _testing his intentions_.

He sunk lower into the bed, Sansas body now flush with his, hands pressed into his chest drifting upwards to touch his face, moving his head he kissed her palm. “Sweetling, I was planning on it, there is no other place I would rather be.” She leaned in and kissed him, her eyes closing and fluttering, lips lightly parting.

Releasing her hands, Sansa positioned her arm under her pillow, eyes hazy and ready for sleep. Holding onto her free hand, he placed kisses on her knuckles before letting her hand settle on her waist. Her eyes closed and he watched Sansa settle herself.

“When are you going to speak with Lysa, Petyr?” Her eyes were still closed, her voice low and sedate. Setting his hand on her lower back he pulled her closer, enjoying the little sigh that escaped her. “I was thinking tomorrow. If that suits you.” He watched a smile form. “And then what?” “Then, plan a swift exit. Collect my things, find a place, contact my lawyer… draft documents. All in between that I play with you between the sheets, enjoy your company - which I have sorely missed.” 

“Perfectly thought out it seems.” She mused with a smile. He kissed her cheek gently. “Not my best as this was not a planned encounter, or the _anticipated outcome._ But, it will accomplish the desired result.” She opened her eyes quickly “Petyr? Where will you stay, where will you go? You can’t just get an apartment overnight.” “I will manage.” He sighed.

“Stay here. With me _._ ”Petyr looked over and arched his eyebrow, her face impassive, awaiting his answer.

“I would love that, though, I have to ask something from you in return.” “What?” She leaned in closer, their heads now sharing the same pillow; “I ask that when I have my own place, you stay there often. I would prefer if you didn’t leave, but I am willing to concede a little.” A blush crept across her face, another kiss placed upon his lips, soft and filled with desire, love. “Of course Petyr.” 


	11. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“They forgot everything the minute they were together again.”_
> 
>  
> 
> \- Emily Bronte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, SMUT ahead... I got a little carried away *coughs*. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay in an update, I do hope it is well worth the wait? I think there may be one more chapter ahead, and then this little fic comes to a close. 
> 
> Thank you all for enjoying as always, comments are always welcome. Also, check out my Tumblr page and follow me! [b-baminal](http://b-baminal.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ♡ B

Grey light crept into the richly colored room. Himself opening one eye to the growing light, closing it with a deep sigh and turning in the sheets. Feeling the press of her warm body he absentmindedly pulled her closer; herself softening and conceding to his touch, Sansas hand taking rest against his chest, fingers running themselves against warm flesh. Petyr opened his eyes to observe his bed fellow, her red hair mussed and tousled, splayed across the sheets and pillows, the rising and falling of her chest and her soft measured breaths. The curve of her breasts and hips allowing the sheets to cling to her so. Long legs draped across his own, their tangled limbs.

Though the night had been emotionally exhaustive and prolonged, he had slept better than he had been apt to in months. Lysa a poor excuse for a bed mate; snoring and kicking, limbs akimbo, her heavy body greedily consuming any open space. Here, with Sansa sated in sleep, the two of them folded in linen, limbs draped across the other in a comfortable fashion, there was closeness, two bodies eager to press against the other always. Surrounded by the smells of sex and arousal; their own scents of musk, mint, lemon, jasmine intermingling - a smell uniquely theirs. Two people slipping into the others world with ease and comfort. Chemically, physically they were equal parts of the other. He had ached apart from her, but now, another ache had taken to rest. A need to be in her presence, to soak up her voice and words, to bury himself in her soft body, lay claim to what was so obviously his, savoring her desire to do the same. 

He heard a soft sigh escape her. His thoughts drifting to the present, her eyes opening to meet his, a soft smile forming. “Petyr.” His nerve-endings alight at his name on her lips. Her eyes hazy, yet strangely alert.

“My love.” Himself noting his voice had dropped an octave, rapt at the sight laid before him. He felt the tug of blankets, her body shifting. Sansas body placed a top of him, one leg still pressed into the sheets. The scent of her body, its proximity maddening, he wrapped his arms around her hips, pulling her face to his, met with soft lips and the fluttering of lashes against his cheek.

“Did you sleep well” She mewed, her lips moist, cheeks flushed. “Very.” Was all he could garner in return.

Petyr was still in a strange state due to his current reality. The woman who had him wrapped around her little finger was a top of him, desire reading across her face so clearly. A smirk grew on his face, Petyrs thumb reaching up to run itself along her plump lower lip, his other hand sliding down her pale back, cupping her bottom, drifting down to find her center. Her body responding to his touch, already slick and wet. Running his fingers along her slit he felt her back arch, Sansas mouth slightly parting with a small gasp, her hips slowly undulating. He watched her face as he pleasured her, how it evolved with his fingers now inside her. She moved to straddle him, pressing her wet sex into him, feeling his hardness, grinding against him. Pressing her hands deep into his chest, she stilled herself as she felt him move underneath her.

“What do you want?” He paused. Petyr wanted many things; greater reach at work, deeper pockets, to be rid of Lysa, to fuck Sansa Stark on his desk at the office; but back to the task at hand, the lithe body a top of him, keening at his touch. “I want to hear you come.”

“Is that all?” She responded in a low voice, thick and cloudy with want. “We wouldn’t have enough time in the day to even begin what I want with you.” Leaning in for a soft kiss, she bit his lip, pulling away and grabbing at his hardened member she sank on top of him.

Petyr shuddered and let out a heady groan at the contact. Closing his eyes at the sensation of her insides tightening around him, his member slick with her arousal. The both of them still as they regained some sense of composure over his lewd act. Sitting a top of him, gripping at his arms she began to move, her body trembling slightly, the movements slow and purposeful. Eyes closed for only the briefest of moments, savoring the sensation of skin against skin. He looked up to meet her darkened expression, no sounds except their panting and soft moaning. The slow machinations left him frustrated, his body feeling coiled like a spring.

Giving a thrust, Sansa slapped his chest, pinning his arms down “You wait.” Groaning, he conceded, pressing his hands into the small of her back.

Finding her point of arousal, Sansas breathing grew heavier, raspy, her presses deeper, leaning into his grip, her head tipping back. Sensing she was growing to climax, he snaked his hands up her waists, running over her chest and resting against her neck, his thumbs running over her jaw. He rose to hungrily meet her mouth, kiss her neck as her mews grew into moans and gasps, her forehead damp with perspiration. He pressed her close, one hand weaving into her hair, cradling her head, the other pressing her close to his body as he felt the contractions.

“Oh god.” She whispered into his open mouth. “Come for me.” he gasped, his voice gravelly, low. “Only you, always.” Was her chant.

Their movements grew frantic and greedy, a collective shudder as they peaked. Sansa emitting a heavy moan into his skin, himself speaking her name into her soft hair as she felt his seed spill inside her. They remained in their tight embrace, stroking the others slick skin, kissing mouths, slowing breaths. Finally separating they fell into the sheets side by side, fingers clasped and intertwined. Petyr lifted her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm, tugging at her hand Sansa pressed herself into his side, his arm moving, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder, the two laying in silence, continuing to hold hands, running their fingers over the others bare skin.

He moved to kiss her head, “Do you have any coffee?” “I do, for once.”

Sansa raised herself on her elbow uncaring of the sheets falling to expose her naked and pale skin, “Would you like a cup?” She raised an eyebrow, “Yes please.” With a smile she fell back into the soft bedding.

Her eyes followed him as he rose, pulling on trousers and a shirt as he walked into her kitchen, all too familiar with its contents and layout. The sound of distant movement, coupled with her own peaked arousal left her with the desire to drift off to sleep. Laying face-up on the pillows, hands gently spread across the surface of her mattress, her back slightly arched and one leg lazily rubbing against the other she felt her eyes growing heavy, only to be roused with a kiss upon her lips.

Sitting up, she leaned against the headboard, a warm mug placed in her hands; “Thank you.” She mouthed into her cup as she brought it to her lips.

Feeling the depression in the bed next to her, she edged in closer, Petyrs arm drifting over her naked shoulder, kissing the warm skin before taking a sip from his own cup. Her head fell into the crook of his neck as they sat in silence, hands finding the skin of their partner, occasionally bringing a cup to their lips.

Sansa became alert once again when she eyed Petyr fumbling with his phone, turning it back on. “You learned.” He turned to face her, his look suggesting she keep her mouth shut. Giving him a smirk she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out the tangles. She turned to look at the phone in his hand,  _15 missed calls_.

“Jesus.” He muttered, his grip around her shoulder and naked waist increasing. “Hmm?” He turned to kiss her, she could feel his frustration leave him, his warm breath slowing. “This will not be pleasant.” She looked into his eyes, unsure of what to say, biting her lip at the silence.

“She is on a ten at the moment, will require me to talk her down first… _then -”_ Looking at his phone he continued; “I will be gone most of the day to handle this, though I promise you I will be back this evening, at the latest.” His hand left her waist, resting against her cheek, instinctively Sansa leaned into it, her eyelids fluttering. “I may have a few things in tow.” She nodded, “Of course.” He sighed, “If this was another time I could just push her to her death, but instead - we have to talk.” Sansa allowed herself a small laugh. “ _You poor thing_.” She turned to him, placing her hand on his chest, watching his eyes as they drifted across her naked figure. “It will feel good seeing you walk through that door -  _to me._ ” She whispered.

He gave her a genuine smile. “Oh god yes.” She smiled back and leaned into him, the two continuing to sit in silence, soaking in the strange comfort that it brought. His vibrating phone pulling them from their ministrations - Lysa’s name appearing on the screen. He turned towards the red head, waiting for her approval, with a small nod from her he tapped the screen, bringing the phone to his ear. Sansa could hear the shrieking without the phone on speaker, her body tensing at the crackled tones on the other end of the line.

“What the hell Petyr! What the fuck! Not coming home, not answering your -“ “Lysa!” Petyrs firm tone caused the other end to grow silent. He slipped his arm away from his present partner, running his hand over his face in frustration.

“Please, calm yourself -” “Calm myself! I thought you were dead!” He sighed, “Lysa, something came up - something very important… We should talk about it… alone, Robin should go to the sitter this afternoon.”

The other end grew quiet for several beats, the voice responding, sounding weak, the indignant tone removed. “What is it? Is everything ok Petyr?” “We will discuss this when I get home.” “Tell me!” Another sigh, “Regarding our _marriage_ Lysa” “Our marriag-“ “Lysa, goodbye, like I said, we will discuss, _when I get home_.” With that, he ended the call.

Leaning against the headboard he gave a heavy sigh, the formidable presence he had cut during the conversation stealing away with his exhale. Petyr tossed his phone onto the nightstand and with a swift movement he pulled Sansa onto his lap, her naked body straddling his. Steadying herself she pressed her hands against his chest, watching his eyes as they wandered over her face, his hands running themselves through her hair, lightly tugging at the tangles. He finally rested his forehead against her bare chest. Gently, she snaked her arms around him, weaving her fingers through his strands of black and grey hair.

“Petyr?” She whispered.

“Hmm?” His response muffled against her pale skin. “Are you alright?” He looked up into her eyes, the smirk he held replacing itself with a smile.

She could feel fingers wandering across her neck, his face growing close to hers, feeling his breath against her lips “Never better, preparing myself for this soon-to-be exhausting experience.” She bit her lower lip and kissed him.

He pressed Sansa to his form, a small gasp spilling from her lips. His hand wandering down her back, taking rest against her bottom. The other drifting lazily down her clavicle; Petyrs thumb running itself over a hardened nipple - another gasp stealing from her, the skin still sensitive from their previous machinations and his nipping. She tilted her head back, his mouth meeting her neck, his lips and tongue finding her pressure points. In response, Sansa deepening the press of her hips into him, smiling at the sensation of feeling his hardness. Pressing again, Sansa felt his mouth go slack. Groaning, Petyr muttered several intelligible words, dipping her body down, laying her a top the sheets.

Adjusting his body, Petyr slid out from under her. Wordlessly he shifted her, his arms sliding underneath her hips, her legs coming to rest on his shoulders. His warm breath felt against the pale skin of her thighs, kissing at the burning skin, each moment of contact moving him closer towards her center. Sansa wiggled and arched her hips, chasing the contact; “What are you doing?” She managed to gasp, shaken and roused by this sudden display of primal behavior. “I need this” was all that was given in response, slipping out of him in a raspy moan.

She tilted her head back, his tongue running along her entire slit. Sansa gave a shudder, feeling a smirk against her skin. His tongue against her folds, tasting her arousal, the fluid from their previous encounter, before laving his tongue against her clit. With that she arched her back, fingers pulling at his hair, his own hands pressed into her waist, his grip increasing. His movements only intensifying, something deeply possessive and avaricious taking over; eating her out with a veracity she had never experienced with him before. Sansas sensitivity peaking, crying out in a confused mix of pain and pleasure with his continued movements.  

She was so wet and swollen; “Petyr.” She managed to moan, coming from her back of her throat, sounding like a plea.

With that his grip increased yet again, bruises dappling Sansas body becoming inevitable - and welcome. Every nerve ending of hers alight, body slick with sweat, hips grinding against the movements of his tongue. He could feel her peaking, her breathing growing ragged, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, breaking skin even through his shirt, the biting sensation pushing him forward. His tongue continued its assault, her muscles contracting, feeling her center grow in warmth, the smell of arousal heavy, the wetness increasing. Petyr could feel her thighs tensing, toes curling, her hips rolling. Himself hard to the point of pain, rubbing himself against the bed for relief. A deep, guttural moan erupting from her lips as she came. Her body immediately growing heavy and slack. Sansas orgasm of an intensity never felt before, adrenaline pumping through her body weak and slick with fluid, tears catching on the corners of her eyes. Her breathing heavy, propping herself on her elbows she immediately sat up, staring Petyr in the eye.

Both their looks dark and hungry. Sitting up she moved quickly, pushing him against the head board, her hands tugging at his zipper. Freeing his hardened member, she took his thick length into her hands, lowering her face, looking into his eyes before running her tongue along his length. Biting his lower lip he moaned. Her mouth taking him fully, feeling her lips tight against him, her tongue swirling along his length, her hands moving to the base. Running her mouth up and down his thickness several times, pulling away to run her tongue along the sensitive tip, licking up any fluid. His hands gripping at her hair, the heavy breathing and guttural moaning as her mouth fucked him.

“Holy fuck.” He moaned. Watching her mouth, her pink tongue and full lips running along his cock. 

His eyes wandering to her naked body crouched over him. Relishing at the sounds her moaning as she sucked at him, tilting his head back with a wave of arousal, a moan from the deepening pressure, the movements of her tongue.

“Oh god Sansa -“ With several thrusts of his hips, her hands gripping at him, he came. Fluid filling her mouth, himself now slick with her saliva and his seed. With a quick swallow she sat up, himself pulling her forward, towards him. Their mouths meeting, tasting each other, moans sounding like cries from the sensitivity, their shared exhaustion.

Through the pressing kisses he managed to speak “I... I, just needed to know.” Sansa said nothing in return, knowing what he meant. Their intrinsic, chemical need for each other; the wordless validation of their desire to please - it had to be confirmed. 

Petyr left an hour later, Sansa stepping in the shower at his departure. He declined to wash himself, relishing in the feeling that Sansa covered him from head to toe, immersed himself in her scent. Peaking his head into the shower he observed Sansa tilted her head into the hot water, the press of her breasts against her arms, her small waist and pale thighs. He looked up, meeting her stare. She leaned in to kiss him, feeling her wet skin and lips against him.

He groaned a little, feeling a smile. “I will see you tonight at the latest sweetling, hopefully sooner.” “I know” She smirked.

With a nip to his lower lip he receded, finally leaving the oasis of her room, apartment, to face the cool fall air and what would be at the end of his train ride.

* * *

 “I can’t do this anymore.” Petyr stood in the living room, hands resting in his pockets. Refusing to stare at Lysa, Petyr chose to look out the window of the sitting room instead. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her beginning to fumble with her hands.

He had walked into the house to find her sitting in the same armchair she occupied now, waiting for him. The house strangely quiet, Robin gone as requested. Her body stiff in anticipation. Petyr hadn’t given Lysa much of a preamble, walking into the house, same suit from the night before, hair slightly mussed, his tie loose around his neck. The man strangely equal parts loose and stiff in his demeanor. Lysa gave a strange crackling laugh, it was harsh and jarring, tinged with a feeling of manic energy. Someone ready to fall over the edge.

“ _You can’t do this anymore_?” Her last words ending in a strange cry, her breathing increasing, the grip on the chair noticeably tightening. “Do what; _our marriage_?” She looked up and away at his hard stare and his slow nod. “I don’t understand, you don’t want to be married anymore, why Petyr why?”

He gave a heavy sigh, though remained standing and unmoving; “Lysa, I’ve been sleeping with someone else… it's over.” Her body seemed to curl into itself as if in pain, her hand going to her mouth, rough sobs spilling out though muffled, Lysas body seeming to vibrate and shudder. Letting go of her mouth she left out a small screaming wail, her eyes filled with tears, her face contorted and blotchy.

“How long?” He sighed running his hands through his hair, remaining impassive, debating in his mind whether to be honest. “How long _Petyr_.” She repeated, still crying, giving deep, sporadic breaths.

“Do you really want to know?” Lysa nodded, albeit, slowly.

“Six months, for about six month we slept together.” With that she gave another heavy wail, collapsing into her self, running her hands over her eyes, the make-up growing smudged; Lysa coughing from her labored breathing. “ _And then_?” He sighed again, “Then she ended it, because I wouldn’t leave you.”

“What?” She managed to spill out, slightly dumbfounded; “Then why now Petyr?” She sat up straight, Petyr watching her body language, her trembling, her heaving chest. “I, we slept together last night, I saw her again, I wanted her, I still want her.” Lysa laughed and stood up, squaring herself with him.

“ _You want her_? You want her Petyr? Is that all? Someone new, younger, prettier?” He remained still, “Next your going to say you love this little whore” Petyr didn’t take the bait, standing there quietly, his lack of response allowing Lysas frustrations to build. She tilted her head, staring hard, slowly raising her hands to her mouth “Do you love her? Do you love her?” Her voice was growing louder, frantic “Do you love her Petyr? Did you ever love me? Ever!” She heaved her shoulders, closing her eyes as tears spilled. “I’m sorry” was all he allowed himself.

Lysa began to wail and scream like a petulant child. She turned to Petyr and tried to hit him, but he gripped at her wrists, Stopping her. She yanked her hands away. “Don’t fucking touch me you fucking piece of shit. _I loved you_! _I love you_! And this? This is what I get?” She flung her hands to her sides and sobbed, walking backwards, falling into the arm chair.

Petyr sighed, “I’m sorry. These last four months have been hard - really hard. I tried Lysa. But, _this_ isn’t what I wanted, you aren’t what I wanted.” With that, he walked up the stairs, listening to Lysas crying as he packed a bag - the rest he would get later.

Walking downstairs he stood in the entry, turning to find Lysa a crumpled mess in the chair, wadded tissues surrounding her, her wailing and moaning persisting though quieted. She turned her head, the two of them staring at each other in silence, “Have fun with your little tart.” She croaked.

Petyr stood there, unsure of what to do. Finally giving her a small smirk and a nod, he waved his hand in goodbye and walked out the front door, shutting it behind him.

* * *

The sunshine from the fall afternoon was streaming through the leaded windows when he walked through the doors of Sansas apartment, dropping the bag by the door, walking slowly towards the kitchen where he heard movement. Gently he snaked his arms around the women standing in the kitchen, her back to him, feeling her muscles loosen with his embrace. Petyr finally allowing himself to slump his shoulders, allow the tension to leave his body. He was exhausted, emotionally spent.

With a kiss to the back of her neck Sansa turned around in his embrace, their eyes meeting, herself silent. They stood there, running his hand down her waist he tugged her towards him, kissing her collarbone, watching as her eyes closed to his touch. Peter allowed himself a small smile, acknowledging the triumph in what he had gained, what he now possessed in his grip.

He noted her eyebrow slightly arching as she observed his changing expression, “Well?” He smiled against her skin, closing his own eyes at her scent, her warmth.

He sighed. “I told her.” “And?” “I took a few of my things, I have a call in to my lawyer on Monday, and a moving van has been scheduled.”

She leaned in, a smile on her lips, her voice rich and velvety. “ _Such a busy day Mr. Baelish_.” Their lips met in a deep kiss, lips parted, her body pressing closer as he pulled away, a smirk on his face. With that he lifted up her lithe body, hearing a squeal steal away from her as he threw her over his shoulders. Turning and walking towards the bedroom, Sansas feet kicking in mock indignation, another squeal given as he spanked her ass.

“Petyr!” She laughed, herself picked up and thrown on to the bed, watching him as he slowly took off his shoes, crawling towards the writhing red-head. Satisfied sighs at the sensation of their bodies now parallel, the weight of the other against them. Placing chaste kisses against her face and neck, he felt her hands threading through his hair, he watched her dreamy smile.

He rested his head on her chest, listening to her heart beat. “I just want to lay here awhile, _we are quite at our own leisure with the time_.” He felt Sansa move his hand, kissing his palm, resting it against her face, her body wriggling to settle itself underneath him.

She sighed with a smile, “Agreed.”


	12. Signed and Sealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?"_  
>  "Yes. I want to ruin you."  
> "Good," I said. "That's what I want too.”
> 
>    
> \- Ernest Hemingway, _A Farewell to Arms_

Sansa tapped her heeled foot against the carpeted floor, the dull thud creating a nervous beat ringing out into the empty room. With a sigh, she crossed her long pale legs, the reflection of the ceiling lights catching on the polished, patent leather. Leaning into the chair she occupied her fingers reflexively gripped at the arm of the chair. Huffing with impatience, Sansa raised her right arm, eyes lifting to check the time, to hear the soft machinations of seconds ticking by. She smiled, not at the time that had passed since she had last checked the time, but the means in which she had received the watch -  _a gift,_  from Petyr _._ Her mind drifting to the inscription on the back of the watch face, a smile growing. Out of habit her pointer finger running against her bottom lip, feeling her own soft skin and warm breath.

She wished to feel another's breath against her own lips, lithe fingers running along her jaw, thumbs pressing lightly into her pulse points. Burning green eyes meeting her own pale blue, dilated pupils allowing him to drink in her features; the blush that would most certainly have spread along her pale skin, her body taught with anticipation and excitement. Closing her eyes, she allowed her head to rest against the back of the chair. Herself taking a deep breath and with the exhale running her fingers along her neck, hands settling in her lap, fingering the soft silk of her dress. Sansa felt her shoulders slump, body growing heavy. _She had been patiently waiting and found herself drifting off, eagerly awaiting his arrival and everything that would happen after._

* * *

The final document signing had drug on, paperwork sealed and signed. For two people with no complicated, shared assets or biological children - Lysa had put up quite the fight, dragging on every proceeding, filing superfluous paperwork, demanding excessive meetings. All in some strange sick hope Petyr would change his mind, that, as if waking from a daze he would leave the leggy redhead for a more _established woman -_ to no avail of course. As the six months of divorce proceedings struggled and ambled along, the two of them pulled the other deeper and further into each others lives. Reintroductions to friends and acquaintances made, long nights tangled in sheets, mornings together spent in the shower, conversations that seemed to pick up organically, just where they had left off - it was perfection. The two now living together, as Petyr had quickly found a spacious and modern apartment downtown, no option given to Sansa whether she would live there or not. Petyr and Sansa keen on the sensation of coming home, the other waiting - ready to sate your desires, to burn, aching for you.

Petyr felt rushed as he headed back to the office. Though the sky was dark, the office closed, Sansa had decided to wait there, the law firm only blocks away from the Vale offices. After all this time, _it was over_. As he stepped outside into the spring night taking a deep breath, it felt as if he was exhaling for the first time. In a moment of hopeful idealism, he wondered if his senses were sharper, if the air smelled differently, if street lights burned brighter and clearer. His gait, though rushed, seemed to slow as he rolled over the terms of Lysa and his divorce; as choice memories from the last few months were pulled to the front of this thoughts. Finances were quickly pushed aside, as the two of them, much to Lysas chagrin, had never fully pooled their wealth, just an account set aside for shared expenses - vacations that were never taken, a second home empty with a fine layer of dust of every surface; Petyr didn’t even know where the keys to the damn place had gone. The only thing left to discuss were small windows of visitation time between himself and his step-son. Though _thank fucking god_ they did not share blood, the brief time Robin had been in Petyrs presence had been good for the boy and Robin wished for them to continue. Petyr, in a rare moment of guilt acquiesced and asked for an afternoon now and again to check on the boy.

And after six months, all he had to show for it were a heap of very costly lawyers bills. Petyr often wondered if would have been easier to kill the damn woman, just to end Sansa and his shared misery. While he figured Lysa would forever be alone after their separation and probably die alone ( _surrounded by no less than six house cats ready to consume her fresh corpse_ ); he hoped his time away from that dreadful marriage would be,  _productive._ Sansa never more than an arms length away; _his partner, lover, conspirator._ She brought something out in him that had been slumbering for too long. Questionable ideas and thoughts coming to mind he himself hadn't thought of in years, not since he was a younger man. 

And himself, while some piece of her former self still lingered, _that woman desirous to be adored, the dancer and pupil so eager to please_ , knew he had had a large and measurable hand in forming Sansa into this person she was now. Lustful, single-minded, and amoral; and god how he fucking loved it. After one of their frequent couplings they would lay in bed, tangled in each other and the sheets - talking. Talking about leaving town, starting over, Petyr leaving his position, starting his own business, getting back into real estate, _diversifying their portfolio_. To grow Sansa and his wealth, herself though employed in the arts was quite well off, a little heiress in her own right, the death of her parents leaving her an impressive sum and no family in which to judge what she did or who she did with it. 

That all he would do, would be for the two of them;  _us_ _._ With a far-off and unreadable expression on his face, Petyr stopped as he reached the doors to the Vale offices. _He was done with this place._  Though it had been a steady and profitable tenure as the CFO, he was tired of it and as he swiped his key-card he heard the clicking of the unlocking doors. allowing him inside to the woman that awaited in his office. _T_ _ime to give it a proper good-bye._

* * *

 She felt the pressing of strong arms atop her shoulders, the sensation of lips brushing against her eyelids before the hungry press of lips against her own. Sansas body reacting instinctively, mouth parting slightly, a soft gasp slipping from her as she could feel their shared breathing, tongues moving, a smile against her soft skin. Finally she raised her arms, wrapping them around his shoulders, feeling her body lifted from its resting place, a familiar hand pressed into the small of her back, arching herself to press her own body closer to his. She pulled her head away, allowing herself to give Petyr a proper stare, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Sooo?” she gave a slight purr, watching his features and resting on his eyes, eager for the answer that had been eluding them for nearly six months.

“Signed, sealed. Done.” Sansa gave a squeal, knowing he would delight in her reaction. She covered his face with kisses, giggling at the sensation of him pulling her closer, hand gripping at her tiny waist, the other resting on her ass, though moving lower with every kiss. The slight bounce of her body; knowingly rubbing her breasts, hips, and soft thighs against her partner; coaxing a reaction from him.

“Fuck Petyr. Finally!" She laughed, her voice quickly becoming layered with arousal at the knowledge, though she had no ring or no legal claim to the man that held her, something deeper bound them and now, whatever shred of what would have kept them apart was gone. For good. Yes, Sansa was definitely his, but the same could be same for him - Petyr wrapped around her little finger. Lust, greed, desire, love, held them together far tighter than any legal document ever could.

She could feel him pivot, taking Sansa with him, her lithe body still tight in his grip, now pressed against the wood of his desk. " _A single man again_." He leaned her back slightly. Wanting to be formidable, though breaking under Sansas machinations, her bouncing, rubbing, and teasing kisses. 

“ _Hardly,_ Mr. Baelish _-_ now I have you all to myself.” She purred, arching her back further, her pert breasts pressed against his chest. Petyr gave a small groan. She could feel his hands leaving her bum, running along her smooth thigh, gripping it with his hands lifting and pressing the leg against his hip, his hands perilously close to her center. She swore he would have been able to feel the heat radiating from her arousal, his fingers drawing closer to her sex.

“You do. The same goes for me as well _\- you're mine._ ” “ - You always had me Petyr.” She gasped, his fingers running against the sensitive skin of her thighs, how they grazed the lace of her intimates. He groaned and smiled against her neck, biting at her jaw before laving his tongue against her soft skin, kissing and nipping at her.

“Now what?” She tried to have the words sound playful but her arousal was winning out, the words coming out in a moan.

He smirked at her weakening resolve, though he found his own voice faltering as his fingers found her slit. Its need, its wetness, the sound of fingers sliding into her causing both of them to crack slightly. As he moved inside her Petyrs other free hand pressed her into the desk, her back now flat a top cool surface. His hand pushing away a few stray items and a stack of papers, the sound of them hitting the floor, a backdrop to the sound of her moaning and his raspy voice. She pressed her hands against his chest, tugging at his collar running her fingers against the fabric - wishing it were skin instead.

Petyr slid his hand out of her, Sansa whimpering at the loss of contact, wrapping her thighs around his waist, her dress sliding up, exposing her pale thighs. His hands moved under the silk top of her wrap dress, pushing the fabric aside, exposing her bra and without a word slid his hand under the fine lace, touching her warm breast, thumb rubbing her pink nipple. The same hand that moments ago, that had been inside her, leaving a sheen of her own wetness against her skin. He leaned down and kissed her, a deep and ardent kiss. The force of it, along with his touches making her gasp into his mouth.

He pulled away, watching her face, the fluttering eyelashes and the creeping blush; “Now.” He murmured, though it was more of raspy moan. “My love, after I have _throughly_ fucked you on top of my desk.” He could feel her hands against his trousers, seeking to undo his belt, lower the zipper finally skin against skin. He hissed at the feeling of her finally gripping his cock, how hard it was, the running of her thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum along the skin.

He managed to speak through her touches, no matter how distracting; “ _And we stumble home_ -” She kissed and silenced him, pulling away “ _-Mr. Baelish_ , do know I plan on fucking you senseless tonight, _again_ , no matter  _our_ plans _._ ” He groaned, pushing down the fabric of his trousers, tugging at her panties, “ _Little minx.”_ He growled. 

As the thin fabric slid down her legs he kissed the soft white skin, letting them drop to the floor herself now bare, dress hitched up to her waist. He leaned down and kissed her mound, another moan falling out of her mouth. He moved upward kissing her tight stomach, moving aside more silk and lace, kissing her exposed breasts, her collarbone and the column of her neck. Finally finding her mouth, his cock found her entrance, and with a thrust filling her. Sansas body arching, her fingers digging into his back, moving to tug at his hair. Slowly he pulled out, moaning into her neck, biting the pale skin. With another thrust she allowed a small scream to come from the back of her throat.

Sliding out again, they could hear the obscene sound of her wetness, how her sex contracted and clenched around him. He looked down to watch himself pull out, how she coated him, the smell of her sex. “Fuck Sansa, I love you and that tight cunt of yours.” He watched himself thrust into her, and closed his eyes as he dropped his head into her neck, kissing her flushed skin, listening to her moaning.

“It’s all for you.” She gasped, her head tilting back, “ _Fuck me harder_.” His hands ran up her limbs interlocking his fingers with hers pressing them into the desk above her head. " _Mine_." Petyr groaned.

Another thrust, another deep moan, her thighs tightening around his waist; raising them higher, allowing him in deeper. She closed her eyes, tears catching on her lashes, her body aching, demanding release, " _Yours_. God it's yours." Sansa panted.

As his grip lessened her fingers slid away from his, sitting herself up, pressing her core into his groin, Sansas hands gripping at lip of the desk. He wrapped his arms around her waist their bodies now flush, mouths devouring the other. He allowed her to move against him, hips rolling and pressing into his groin, Sansa pulling away to tilt her head back and moan as she chased her peaking arousal.

Petyr pulled her closer, the movement of her hips against his increasing, her quickening and airy breathing on an impending orgasm. He watched her as she fucked him, watching her eyes grow black and lascivious, with every thrust he felt her muscles tightening, the warmth of her center growing. Every movement bringing them closer to a release, himself to the point of breaking in feeling every nerve in Sansas body alight. With sudden broken cry she leaned her head into the crook of his neck, her body still rocking; “Oh god, Petyr, please, don’t sto- oh god!” A rush of arousal washing over her form, leaving her still and trembling.

For a second they sat motionless, her slowing breath, Sansa aching and crying out with every little movement of his cock still hard, and still inside her. Kissing her open mouth he pressed her down again and thrust slowly, herself arching back and whimpering with the mingling of pain and pleasure. Himself breathing heavy and nearing his own completion, gripping at the desk for support, weakening at the prospect of spilling himself inside her. Sansas body soft, covered in a sheen of sweat, her thighs wet with her own arousal. She spread her legs further allowing for Petyrs final thrust, his seed filling her.

Running his hands up her thighs and stopping at her waist he fell into her, feeling her own arms wrap around him as he came down. Both lay in silence, listening to the others slowing breath. When their panting had subsided he looked into her eyes, their mouths meeting in a smile. He could feel her lashes fluttering against his skin.

“ _You never allowed me to finish our little_ _discussion Sweetling_.” He murmured, a smirk on this lips. Sansa laughed, her head still resting against his desk, her red hair fanned out against the dark wood. He kissed her neck. “Please, continue then.” she smiled, another kiss, “Now that we are - _free_.”

“Well.” He kissed her back, moving to look her in the eyes as he spoke, running his fingers through her tangled locks, feeling his knuckles against the cool surface. The two of them had yet to separate. Petyr still leaned towards his desk, Sansa beneath him, practically bare in his office, still lying a top his large desk. Petyr smirked at the image, committing it to memory - locking it away.

“I liked the idea of leaving, you and I. A fresh start somewhere else. The idea suits me, and I think would very much suit you as well. Too many memories in this fucking city.” She nodded, fingering his starched collar.

“I like it. I can’t really dance anymore; getting  _too old_.” He chuckled, “Something else would be lovely, _something else with you._ ” Sansa lowered her voice. They stared for a moment in silence.

“Know there was never a question of you coming with me. Sansa, you are far too valuable to me to be left behind.”

She smiled, "Truly?" "Truly." He kissed her exposed breasts. “Then, _w_ _h_ _ere_ and _when_ do we leave Petyr?” Sansa lightly moaning.

“Hmm...” Petyr mused, kissing her jaw and neck; the line of her collarbone, Sansa sighing at his touch. “I tender my resignation tomorrow, be out of this place in a month, pack our things, you say your goodbyes to the ballet troupe and the Tyrells and then - we leave,  _disappear for a while_. Who knows what we will get into my love.”

“With you, nothing good.” She whispered, kissing him as her fingers ran through his hair. “Possibly deviant and slightly amoral _\- though know I will throughly enjoy it."_  He laughed against her skin. “As will I; _very, very much_." 

* * *

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finis! Viola! I like to think that Sansa and Petyr are better together (in an awful, delicious, deviant, conniving way) than apart; thus they will be tearing shit up where ever they are.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading... the comments, all of it have all been amazing, I felt the loves, truly! Also, I managed to slip in the "office sex" - right at the end, I didn't forget.
> 
> Onward to my other writings, I am determined to finish them dammit.
> 
> Trash baby over and out for now. ♡ B


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